


Outside The Dawn Is Breaking

by grand_budapest_queen



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Depression, First Kiss, First Time, HIV/AIDS, Illnesses, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:06:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grand_budapest_queen/pseuds/grand_budapest_queen
Summary: The quiet and peacefulness of Montreux makes Brian come to terms with some hard and painful truths about his feelings for Freddie. While Queen works on what they believe to be their last album, Brian feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into his depression, failing to keep his emotions hidden for much longer. Is it too late to allow himself to be honest with his friend and to risk it all?
Relationships: Brian May/Freddie Mercury, Jim Hutton/Freddie Mercury
Comments: 76
Kudos: 81





	1. I´m Going Slightly Mad.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks, here I am, back with another story. This time, it´s a rather sad one but I´ve been thinking about this one for quite some time now and it felt so good to finally write it. The time period of Queen recording “Innuendo” has always fascinated me immensely and I admire Freddie´s will to carry on and to finish the album greatly. So yeah, this will get quite dark at times, but I´ve also tried to make it light and sweet in some parts.  
> Updates will probably happen once a week.  
> And now... enjoy!

Montreux had become their haven. The quiet of the small town by the Genevan lake almost seemed healing after the hustle and bustle of London traffic

…after everything that had happened with the journalists and the photographers at Freddie´s house. 

They had been tormenting the singer for weeks, hiding outside of his property, the one place he should have felt safe at, his home.  
They were like hunters waiting for the prey. 

Brian thought there was a distinct kind of cruelty to it, when he saw them zooming in on the windows with their cameras, asking questions, so many questions Freddie was struggling to answer. 

“I need to get away from here.”, the singer had said one day at the studio around four weeks ago, his dark eyes hauntingly fearful, like an animal being chased, cheeks flustered with nervousness.  
“This place…it´s…it´s killing me. I can´t work like this.”

Freddie had been fidgety but quiet the whole day and Brian had worried about him, worried that his friend might be feeling unwell, that there might have been some bad news, any kind of news on Freddie´s health that would shake them all to the core. 

1987 held a special kind of trauma for all of them, a wound that had never healed properly, patched up hastily by plasters and bandages made of pushing it all away, of hiding one´s tears to keep them all from breaking. 

Freddie had been so strong when he had told them that he was ill just three years ago. 

Three damn years. It still felt like yesterday, but their friend´s worsening condition was a constant reminder that years had passed, that he had been getting worse over the course of time. 

Brian remembered sharing a meaningful gaze with Roger and John, one of those they had come to share more and more often, a conversation without words, a question asked, an answer given, a decision made between the three of them. 

They knew they had to do it. For Freddie. For Queen. To finish the album. 

“Fred, why don´t we go to Montreux and finish the album there?”, John had suggested, green eyes soft and voice even softer, snapping Freddie out of his panicked state within a second. 

With big brown eyes, their friend had looked at them, questioningly, almost as if he wasn’t sure if he could do this to them, if he could ask yet another favour off his friends, whisk them away from their familiar for yet another few months. 

“No…darlings…really, that´s…that is too much to ask of you…”, he had said, blushing like the shy boy he had once been some twenty years ago. 

“No it´s not, mate”, Roger had said, giving Freddie´s bony shoulder a firm squeeze. “These arseholes are hunting you for sport. No one could work like that. Montreux sounds like a great idea, Deaky. Let´s go and finish the album there.”

“Yes, let´s do it.”, Brian had said, giving the singer a reassuring smile. 

The guitarist´s heart had broken at the fact that Freddie´s bottom lip had given a little wobble upon hearing this, a movement so small, quickly vanishing into the touched and toothy smile the singer had given them. 

“Thank you…”, he had managed to get out, voice shaking slightly. “Thank you so much…I swear, I´ll make it up to you.”

“Oh? So we can cut Delilah from the album, yeah?”, Roger had asked, brows raised, smiling mischievously at Freddie. 

“No we won´t, Roger!”, the singer has shrieked and the mood inside of their London studio had been much lighter almost instantly. 

A week later, they had gone to Montreux, suitcases packed with clothes that would last them much longer than just a few weeks. Brian knew that none of them would make a fuss about staying for a few weeks longer than originally intended. 

They wanted to spent time with Freddie, make the most of it, even though it was breaking their hearts. 

The air was fresh and clear with spring but it was still cold when they returned to the studio at Lake Geneva. The small town by the lake had a comfortable familiarity to it, hidden away from prying eyes. 

The place was ideal and their days were spent working on the album without the burden of the many distractions they had faced back at home. 

Home.

Brian´s own thoughts were conflicted when he thought about his life back in London. Of course he could have blamed it all on the weather, the gloominess, the rain, the routine of it all. But that wasn´t what caused the heavy feeling inside of his chest and the darkness inside of his mind, the insomnia, the doubts, those nagging, constants doubts that came with every little thing that he did. 

He had Anita and being with her helped a lot. He loved her, loved her so very much. But still, when he was lying awake at night in their bed back in London, holding her in his arms, he couldn´t help but feel like a failure. 

He had failed Chrissie. He had failed his children. 

A disgrace of a husband, a horrible father, a miserable, moody sod, who on some days, the really bad ones, couldn´t even get out of bed. 

Anita had suggested getting help from a therapist, had spoken to him in her kind but persistent way. Getting help wasn´t being weak, she had taught him. It was the right thing to do. He just hadn´t gotten round to it yet. 

Montreux had always allowed them to escape in a way.  
But not this time. 

Because as wonderful, magical even as it was to spent so much time together, just the four of them, there was a certain melancholy to it all.

Freddie was getting more and more frail by the day and the singer´s constant struggle to hide it from them was painful to see, for all of them. 

Watching their best friend die was something so devastating, so overwhelmingly horrible that Brian sometimes struggled to see the light. His thoughts got dark, black as the deepest night and when he couldn´t sleep, when his insomnia crept back up on him, he sometimes felt like he was slowly suffocating. 

And yes, he had to get out of bed each day in this cold, lonely hotel room and he took a cold shower, got dressed, forced himself to eat breakfast and then went to the studio. 

He felt a lot less like the empty shell he often perceived himself to be when being back at home. But also, there was something painful about spending so much time together, as Queen. 

Because all he could think about, when he played his guitarist, Freddie right next to him, singing his heart out, was how the singer often had to sit down after a few intense takes, how he would heave for breath, hands shaking, perspiration on his forehead and above his upper lips, right on that slim strips of skin where his moustache had grown a few years ago. 

All he could think off was how after a long day at the studio, Freddie got so exhausted on the car ride back to his house, that he would sometimes fall asleep, head lolling against Brian´s shoulder.

All he could think about was how on some days, Freddie had to go home after just an hour or two, because he was in so much discomfort, pain even, that to simply stand up drained him off all of his energy and he would get jittery and nauseous. 

Freddie would get so angry on those days, angry with himself, angry at the world. He would never cry, no, not in front of them, but Brian could see, could hear, that there was painful sob stuck in his throat, a strangled cry for help, like a wounded animal. 

And all he wanted to do was to be there, was to comfort him. But it wasn´t his place, it never had been. 

On those days, Brian saw the fear in his bandmate´s eyes, the pain, their hearts breaking because this was happening, it really was happening and there was nothing they could do. 

Freddie was dying and still, all he wanted to do, all he strived for was to keep on working, to keep on singing, writing songs, to finish the album. 

Spending so much time with Freddie, cherishing each and every moment with him, allowing himself to feel, the pain, the happiness, the full range of his emotions, which was working wonders for the creative progress of their album, was awakening something inside of Brian. 

Something strong, something big. Something that he had pushed away for too long that was now coming back to him with full force. 

His feelings for Freddie Mercury. 

Maybe it was then that Brian was able to realize, to admit it, even though the sensation of the feeling itself was much too familiar, much too comfortable to be a realisation per se. 

Maybe it had always been there, hidden away in his heart, growing with each year since the moment they had met more than two decades ago.  
Brian knew what it felt like to fall in love, oh yes he did. 

And maybe, at some point, it had felt like this, a feeling, secretly harboured inside of his heart, a tingling sensation at the back of his neck when Freddie´s delicate fingers casually touched him, a tight feeling in his stomach, pleasantly pooling lower, shamefully hot, when the singer´s dark gaze touched his, brown eyes full of hunger, hunger for life, hunger for greatness when they had started out as nothing more than four uni students trying to get by.

But there had always been more to it, much more than the brotherly love he had come to feel for Roger and John over the years they had spent together. 

It had also always been more than the crush Brian now acknowledged to have had on his friend in younger years when he had been an insecure young man, caught up in his own head, in his own thoughts, his own fears…and his unbreakable fascination with Freddie Bulsara. 

And each day he spent with Freddie, each day that made him painfully aware of the transiency of life, of them, maybe even of Queen, it was becoming harder and harder to push the feeling away.  
He knew he was being foolish, ungrateful, downright presumptuous. But he couldn´t help it. Everything was catching up on him. 

It was just another day at the studio, slow, relaxed, Roger making coffee for them in the other room, Deaky tuning his base guitar.

Freddie was smiling when he played the piano, finger swift and playful on the keys and Brian thought about how much he loved those delicate fingers, those kind hands and the things Freddie created with them, holding a pen and writing down lyrics, playing the keys of the piano, clutching on to a microphone. 

He loved him. It was plain and simple. Acknowledging it was like sinking into a warm bath after a long walk out in the cold and dark. 

Loving Freddie was comfortable. It came to Brian so naturally, that he had never really thought about it. And so he allowed himself to lose himself in the view of his friend on the piano, nimble fingers going over the melody of their next song. 

When Freddie´s gaze met his, there was a shyness to his eyes and a sweet smile on his lips, growing mischievous when he quirked up one of his brows. 

It was only then that Brian noticed how he must have looked to his friend, smiling absentmindedly, limply holding his guitar in his hands, completely zoned out. 

Roger might have cracked a joke about it, but the singer had never been one to make fun of his friend´s little moments of weakness, a second of being lost in one´s own thoughts. He knew what it was like to dream. 

“Are you alright, Brian dear?”, Freddie simply asked him, voice soft, eyes sparkling with warmth. He looked almost healthy, almost like he had back it in the old days, if it weren´t for his lack of a moustache and his painfully thin body, shirt and slacks that had once fit him so well now hanging loosely off his form. 

“Yes…sorry…”, Brian stammered, noticing how even the answer to his friend´s simple question had taken him slightly too long. 

The singer´s smile only turned a little sweeter and he gently padded the free space next to him on the wide piano stool. 

“Come here, darling, I´d like to show you a chord. I need your opinion on this…”

In the evenings, they would go on walks along the shore of the lake. Sometimes it would be the four of them, but after a day in the studio, they sometimes needed some time away from the each other, some space to breathe, to call their families on the phone. 

So often times, Brian found himself alone with Freddie on their small strolls along the paved ways on the shore. 

In the first two weeks of them being in Montreux, spring had come and when the skies were clear and Brian could tell that Freddie was tired from working for hours and walking in the fresh air, they sat down on one of the benches, looking out over the lake. 

There was a kind of tranquil peacefulness to it, the weeds along the shore gently swaying in the breeze, a crispness in the air when darkness started to settle in between the mountains in the far distance.

Brian thought about how often they had come to Montreux, how young and carefree they had been back in 79 when they started first worked at the Mountain studio. These days, memories of happiness, always came with a slight twinge of pain. 

“Precious little things, aren´t they?”, Freddie suddenly said and Brian noticed that the singer had been watching a duck with her little ducklings, floating by. “Would you mind if we stayed for a little longer? I´d like to draw them.”

Freddie patted down the side of his coat, pulling out a compact but very wrinkled notepad and a pencil from a pocket on the inside. 

“Of course, no worries. Take your time, it´s lovely here.”, Brian replied, watching Freddie set the first lines onto the paper with skilled ease. The duck and her children had taken a rest in the lush green grass on the shore and there was a small, blissful smile on the singer´s lips when he set to drawing the small duckling´s fluffy tails. 

“I´ve been doing this a lot more often recently. Haven´t felt like drawing in years, but now…I seem to have gotten back into it.”, Freddie murmured, voice slightly hoarse from singing for hours but his movements swift, no edge of pain or severe exhaustion to them. 

“It´s lovely that you´re doing it again. You know I´ve always loved your style.”, Brian said with a soft smile, a feeling of warmth spreading inside his chest. 

He remembered that back in the day, when Freddie seemed to practically have been attached to his notebook and pencil, always sketching, always drawing things, coming up with a logo for Queen in the end. 

“There´s not really much of a style to love…I´m just a copycat really…”, the singer replied, lashes fluttering, his smile shy, slightly nervous even, nimble finger´s restlessly playing with the pencil they were holding.

“No, you´re not, Fred. I could never put something like that onto paper…I´d lack the talent entirely.”, Brian said and watched a sweet smile spread onto the singer´s lips, front teeth peeking out, making him look so very young, so very lovely. 

“How sweet of you, Bri. Thank you.”

Brian watched his friend return to his small drawing. Slowly, the lines started forming the intricate image of the duck and her children resting in the grass. Freddie had only spent a mere few minutes on it, but it was uniquely beautiful, a precious imprint of the lovely evening they spent together. 

Brian debated on asking his friend if he could have the drawing, but then he decided against it. 

“Jim keeps them all, my silly little doodles…”, Freddie murmured when he put the notepad and the pencil back into the breast pocket of his coat. 

“You must miss him very much.”, Brian said, a feeling of dreadful shame rising inside of him at the small twinge of jealousy he experienced upon hearing the other man´s name. 

Jim was the one of the best things that had ever happened to Freddie. He was kind, sweet and patient, he loved Freddie with all his heart, not for his wealth and fame, but for who he was, for who he truly was. 

Brian was glad that Freddie had found Jim, that the years of heartbreak were over, that all those men, those horrible men who had been unkind and downright violent to Freddie, were now in the past.  
Still, he couldn´t help but wonder, couldn´t help but dream. 

What if…? 

Had he been braver…  
Had he chosen the right moment…  
Had he been a better man for Freddie…

No, he could not allow himself to indulge in these thoughts! It was no use!

“How are you holding up, dear? Do you miss Anita much? The children?”, Freddie asked him, possibly having sensed his sudden quietness and the change in his mood. His brown eyes were warm when the last rays of the evening sun hit them. 

“We speak on the phone as often as we can. We´re alright, it´s hard but…it´s okay.”, Brian mumbled, which wasn´t a lie per se, but a gross over-statement. The truth was, that Brian felt overwhelmed at juggling his new-found relationship with Anita with his need to keep in touch with his children as well as keeping on top of his divorce from Chrissie. 

The guilt he was feeling about his failed marriage to his ex-wife was immense and was only increased by the fact that he always felt like he wasn´t spending enough time with his children.

“Oh, don´t you worry, Bri. We´ll be done with this album in next to no time and then you can all go home. I won´t keep you here for longer than necessary.”, Freddie said quickly and Brian could tell that the singer probably thought that his words had been the reason for Brian´s sudden change of mood. 

Brian wasn´t one to talk about his thoughts and feelings much. Freddie was probably one of the very few people in the world he had opened up to a few times in his life, just like the singer had opened up to him. It was how they worked and those memories of nights spent talking, coming to terms with some very hard truths, were as much a part of the fabric of their friendship as Queen itself. 

Freddie had been the first person he had told about Anita, about being in love with her, about cheating on Chrissie, about falling into darkness. Brian had been the first person Freddie had told that he was gay, about his affairs with other men, the drugs, the violence, the pain it all caused him. Those and many more were the kinds of secrets they had kept for each other, had protected. There were few people in the world that Brian trusted as much as Freddie. 

“Won´t you be going back to London?”, Brian asked, to fill the silence that had suddenly manifested between them. 

Freddie gave him a soft smile, then his gaze travelled over the smooth surface of the lake and the mountains in the far distance. There was a certain calmness to his features, a kind of tranquillity that he never seemed to show when he was home in London. 

“I was thinking about staying here…for a little while at least. Just a little vacation for Jim and me.”, he said. 

“That is a lovely idea, Fred. You both deserve it.”, Brian´s smile was genuine, although the familiar twinge was back inside of his heart. He knew that it would be hard for him to get to sleep on that night, his brain bombarding him with accusations. 

How could he be jealous of this small piece of heaven, this sliver of happiness that Freddie had managed to finally find within someone, a special someone he had always dreamed of?

“I must say, I feel like I have neglected him quite a bit, with the album and all. I just get so tired in the evenings, can´t even stay awake for long when we´re watching a film.”, the singer mused with a guilty smile. 

“I´m sure you two will get a lot more time together once we´re done with the album and you can both relax a bit.”

For a second, the guitarist saw a sliver of worry flash inside of the singer´s eyes when his gaze touched Brian´s. Brian knew very well about Freddie´s fears, the voices inside of his head, that whispered to him that the illness was making him lesser, diminishing his worth. 

And even though Jim had told Freddie that he would stay with him, whatever may happen, Brian knew that the singer feared, above all, to be left alone. Freddie was terrified of being alone, of being lonely, of losing Jim. 

“Bri, won´t you come over for a drink? I´ve got some lovely brandy at home”, the Persian asked him, an apologetic smile on his features, although his eyes displayed a poorly concealed expression of fear. 

More and more often, Brian had come back to the Duck House after their walks, mostly for a drink and a chat on the sofa, anything really for Freddie to feel less alone, to keep him company, to be someone he could talk to, should he need it. 

“It would be a pleasure, Fred.”, he replied, knowing full well that his positive answer brought immense joy to the singer. 

Freddie had gotten more quiet in those past months. Most of those nights consisted of a silent companionship, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the sofa and looking out onto the lake. 

Sometimes Brian would fall asleep like this, head lolling off against Freddie´s shoulder, his friend´s steady presence a soothing balm for his restless soul. He would feel Freddie´s arm around his shoulder, holding him, pulling him closer, fingers running through Brian´s hair, gentle, tender almost.

Freddie loved caring for people, loved caring for him like this. Because after a little while, the singer would stir him awake just enough to guide him over to one of the guest bedrooms. 

Brian would have been embarrassed if anyone else had known about this. Freddie knew. And so it stayed their little secret. Maybe this knowledge was what allowed Brian to tiredly shrug off his clothes, climb under the covers and let Freddie tuck him in like a mother hen. 

He had no doubt that it would be just the same tonight. Their silent language of caring for each other, of loving each other. 

Brian knew that he shouldn´t have thought of it like this, should not allow himself to be so weak.

But he couldn´t help it. Freddie and the way each of his gazes, words and touches made him feel loved, made him feel worthy, had always had that effect on him. 

Maybe he was a madman for indulging in it. Maybe it was the price he had to pay for his sin of loving his best friend.


	2. And You´re Rushing Headlong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings,   
> originally, I had intended to only post once a week...but then I decided to post the chapters as I get them written so here is chapter two. Brian gathers up the courage to finally be honest to Freddie. Let´s see how Freddie will react...  
> Enjoy guys! Hope you´re all doing well!

It wouldn´t always be just Freddie and Brian at the Duck House. On most weekends the singer invited Roger and John to come as well, dinner and drinks at Freddie´s place, a simple, cosy night that reminded them all of days in the past, simpler times when they had been young, careless and so in love with life. 

Spring had turned into summer and the process of recording the album was coming along. They worked steadily, no fights, no constant bickering about guitar solos and lyrics, just the four of them coming together to work.

It almost went a little too smoothly.

In the beginning, it had been slightly eery to Brian. He missed it almost, the fighting, the shouting, even the sulking afterwards. It had been such a constant process over the year that working together without fighting like little children almost felt like they had fallen out of a routine.

Back in the day, back in Munich, Brian would have given anything for some peace and quiet. Now, their lack of quarrelling felt unfamiliarly harmonic, uncharacteristic even. 

Maybe they had grown out of it entirely. Maybe Freddie´s declining health was forcing them to cut the bullshit. 

Sometimes it felt like the singer was competing in a race, a horrible, cruel race, on and on, no way of stopping, no place to rest.   
He was rushing headlong and there was no stopping him.

During recording, Freddie´s voice would sometimes crack so painfully that a sharp sting shot through Brian´s chest upon hearing it. When it happened, the singer would heave for breath, sinking down onto the chair behind him, a hand clutching his chest, trying to recover from what had just happened. 

There would be an expression of utter shock on the Freddie´s slim features and then, later, defeat would turn into angers. His voice, the one tool that had served him so well for so many years, was following his body on the path of decline. 

They had learned to keep their distance when it happened, because when talked to, Freddie would snap back at them, angry with himself, his failing body, unleashing it onto whoever offered him a break or even a glass of water. Freddie would then hiss at Roger, shout at Brian and even Deaky, who Freddie had treated like a small, helpless puppy for the past twenty years, would not be spared from his foul moods.

Of course, the singer would be awfully sorry afterwards, embarrassed even at his outbreaks and his weakness. 

Desperately, Brian searched for a way to make his friend understand that it was okay, that he didn´t have to pretend, to mask and to hide. 

Brian didn´t know how Freddie found the strength to keep going, to always keep going, to get up after each hard and painful fall when each day brought another defeat. 

But on nights like these, when he was slipping back into his old role as the sociable host, comfortably entertaining his three best friends, Freddie seemed unaffected, unchanged by his illness.   
Evenings at the Duck House made it seem like no time had passed at all. 

The sun was setting over the lake while they sat in Freddie´s living room. They had had dinner together, eating and trying to pretend like they couldn´t see that Freddie was simply pushing the food around on his plate and eating very little of it. 

Still, it was no quiet affair. They laughed and talked of days in the past, shared the stories of the years they had spent together and sometimes, when Freddie was relaxed and smiling, he would manage to get down a few more spoonful’s of his dinner. 

Later, they all took in the sight of the sunset from the large window in Freddie´s living room, listening to a few records. There was cold beer for Roger, John and Brian and cup of tea for Freddie, who hadn´t touched a single drop of alcohol in a few months. 

Sometimes words flowed onto a notepad, chords and melodies, concepts of songs, vague but still worth preserving on a piece of paper. In the mornings, back at the studio, they sometimes chuckled about their silly ideas. But most of the time, they came back to the idea, using it in one way or another in their work on “Innuendo”.

The Duck House was a peaceful place, a place that felt like home to all four of them. There was always food and drink, there was warmth and something that Brian hadn´t felt for quite some time.

Queen was his family, his home. Those three men had once been his world, his brothers. Once, when far away from home, when times were uncertain and tough, they had learned to cling to each other.   
And now, that their little family was once again facing danger, they once more had come together to protect it, to protect Freddie. 

Roger and John were in the kitchen, helping themselves to another beer, their words and laughter a pleasant melody floating over to them. 

Freddie was standing over by the large window front. The day at the studio had been exceptionally tough and although the singer tried to hide it behind a smile and a joke about how he was getting old, Brian knew that it was weighing him down. 

Sometimes Brian saw the Persian stare at his reflection in the smooth surface of windows, a quick glance, a brush of fingers against his thinning hair. Freddie had never been vain, no. Brian knew that his obsession with his looks stemmed from a feeling of deep insecurity, a crippling need for validation. 

Years ago, Freddie had been scared that his looks would give away his Parsi heritage, always aiming to look more white, more pleasant to the public eye. 

You´re so beautiful, don´t you see!, Brian had wanted to scream at him. Fuck their ideas of light skin, of straight hair, of what was supposed to be female and what was male, of fashion, of manners. Fuck it all!

Now, Brian would tell him the same. Fuck them, you´re still beautiful! Don´t listen to the tabloids, don´t read those cruel words! Here, let me tell you, let me show you how beautiful you are too me.

Freddie had tried growing a beard in the past few months, struggling to hide the fact that his cheekbones had gotten even sharper and his skin thin and sickly pale. Now, he was clean-shaven and it made him look surprisingly young, boyish almost.

“Brian look, the swans are here!”, Freddie suddenly exclaimed and snapped Brian out of his musings. 

The deep sadness that had been visible inside of his large brown eyes before had been replaced with a kind of childlike joy. Freddie had loved the swans ever since they had come to Montreux for the very first time. 

Suddenly, there was a frantic jitteriness to the singer´s movements. 

“Oh, I just have to go and see them!”, he gasped and was already out of the sliding doors that led out onto the lush green grass and the private strip of shore that came with the Duck House. 

Even though the day had been pleasantly warm, there was a chill in the evening air. Brian was up from his comfortable spot on the sofa in a matter of seconds, quickly following his friend outside of the sliding doors and out into the back garden. 

“Fred…Freddie wait!”

He saw the singer´s pale yellow shirt shimmering in the dim evening light as he stepped onto the wet grass in just his socks. 

Brian was worried. Freddie should not be going outside without a jacket on an evening like this, without shoes, subjecting himself to the harsh breeze from the lake in just his thin shirt and jogging bottoms. 

“Fred?”, Brian asked, worry making his voice go a little higher at the end. He saw his friend, standing by the very edge of the paved plateau that led onto the jetty, looking out onto the water. 

Just from walking fastly for such a short distance, Freddie was out of breath, his cheeks rosy with exertion. His hair had fallen out of the neat side-parting he had started to wear it in recently, black strands slipping onto his forehead.

He seemed lost and sad, like a little boy who was looking for his favourite toy and couldn´t find it anymore.

“They´re gone…I swear I´d just seen them floating by…”, the singer murmured quietly, eyes glued to the shimmering surface of the water in front of them. 

The gentle waves of the lakes were lapping against the tall grass along the shore, a soothing, peaceful sound. 

“They used to be here more often…remember Bri? Remember when they used to rest on the grass when it was cool in the summer mornings?”, Freddie asked him, eyes shimmering with the happy memories of days in the past. 

“Of course I remember. You used to take pictures of them all the time.”, Brian replied with a warm smile. Freddie had practically been attached to his polaroid camera, snapping dozens and dozens of pictures of the elegant, white birds, utterly fascinated with their grace and beauty. 

“Yes, still got tons of them…They truly are such beautiful creatures.”, the singer said with a knowing little chuckle. Many a time they had teased him for his obsession with the swans, rolled their eyes at him when Freddie had taken yet another picture of them. 

Now, Brian felt a sorrowful melancholy when he thought back to those carefree days. 

The fading sun was painting shadows under the hollows of Freddie´s cheeks and eyes. In the blood red of the sunset, he looked more frail than ever, darkness settling harshly onto his features. 

“I was hoping we´d see them tonight…”, the Persian sighed and sounded so disappointed, so sad and beaten down that it made Brian´s heart clench with sympathy. 

Freddie lived each day like it was his last, hungry to experience, to see, to enjoy and to sometimes indulge in the things that he loved the most. 

“They´ll come around again, don´t worry. We´ll be able to look at them soon enough.”, Brian tried to comfort him, another gentle smile on his lips when Freddie´s gaze found his and a small smile spread on his lips as well. 

“Fred? Bri? Have you guys gone outside?”, Roger shouted out of the sliding doors over from the house, his voice echoing along the surface of the water. 

“Yeah, Freddie thought he´d seen the swans!”, Brian shouted back, looking over to the house, where he saw their drummer standing in the doorway, another bottle of beer in hand. 

“You should put on a jacket, mate! It´s chilly!”, Roger replied. 

“I´ll get you one.”, Brian said quickly, already turning away from the singer, but Freddie would have none of it. One of his bony hands grabbed onto Brian´s upper arm, his hold on it surprisingly tight. 

There was a pleading intensity in his eyes when Brian´s gaze met his and the guitarist stopped in his tracks. 

“No…come stay and look at the sunset with me, Brimi…”, the singer said quietly, softly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Roger slipping back into the living room, the music from the record player and their two bandmates voices softly floating back out into the garden. 

To his surprise, Freddie leaned up against Brian, back resting against the guitarist´s chest, the back of his head nestled comfortably against the crook of Brian´s neck. 

When they were young, Freddie had had the habit of completely disregarding one´s personal space and the norms of what was considered to be appropriate for two men to do. He had rested his head on his friend´s shoulders, slung his arms around them and even kissed them on the cheek when slightly tipsy. He had been innocently affectionate with them, not caring about the dirty looks that some people had shot them. 

Brian didn´t know when it had become less and less, maybe when he had cut his hair short and grown the moustache, when he had stopped wearing eyeliner and nail polish, satin blouses and dainty silver bracelets and necklaces. 

Maybe when he had started to invite strangers into his bed, strangers that played cruel games, that offered shallow comfort and pleasure in all shapes and sizes, distracted him, pulled him so close that it almost suffocated him before throwing him away like an empty packet of gums. 

Now, it seemed to slowly come back, the singer returning to his old ways, tender and playful like a kitten, seeking his friend´s touch like an innocent child. 

“Oh, I love it here…there´s no place on earth with such beautiful sunsets like Montreux.”, Freddie sighed and Brian couldn´t help but lay his arms around the singer´s slim waist, pulling him even closer. 

Brian knew he should have kept his mouth shut. He felt the words creep up on him, felt them travelling from his sub-conscious into his mind, echoing inside it until they had fought their way to the front of his mouth, to his lips, slipping out in a small breath as if they weren´t so heavy with meaning. 

“I love you…”, Brian´s whispered, nose accidentally brushing against the shell of Freddie´s ear. 

The singers gave a small chuckle, a sweet sound from deep within his throat, dark eyes gleaming with fondness, sparkling with life, when he turned his head to the side to look at Brian. 

“I love you too, Bri.”, he replied, voice going up slightly at the end of the sentence, all dimpled cheeks and sweet smiles, face glowing in the last rays of the evening sun. 

Brian´s heart was beating fast and hard, chest burning with the tension building up inside of him. Could he dare to say those words again? Those foolish words, wretched words, beautiful words.   
Would he be brave enough to repeat them?

“No Freddie, listen…”

Brian´s voice sounded thin, brittle almost with a sudden surge of fear. 

“I love you.”, an emphasis on every syllable creating a symphony of heavy meaning. Still the tune seemed to be escaping the singer. 

“Oh darling…I really love you too, you old…”, Freddie chuckled, his voice as light as warm summer air, but Brian stopped him mid-sentence.

“Fred…I´ve been meaning to tell you…for years…I…”, the words gut stuck inside of his throat, burning hot, painfully meaningful. Before he could get too scared, before the fear would paralyze his lips, he decided to speak again, “I love you, Freddie.”

The guitarist watched the expression on his friend´s face change. Disbelieve let his brows rise up his forehead before the realisation hit him. Brian was being serious and even though it was much too late to play it off as a joke, his friend gave him one last chance to do so. 

Because he was kind, because he wanted to spare Brian the shame of having to say it once again.

“You´re drunk.”, the singer said plainly, turning away from Brian, slipping out of his loose embrace. 

“No…no, I´m not.”

Brian felt a sting of pain in his chest, when an expression of unmasked anger started to form on the singer´s features.

“You better be, Brian. Because you´re talking some right old fucking nonsense.”, Freddie hissed.

“I am not drunk.”, Brian stated, voice shaking just as much as his hands. 

Freddie took a deep, shuddering breath, eyelashes fluttering. He shook his head, lost in his own thoughts before his dark eyes fixated Brian intensely. 

“Then I´m going to ask you to leave.”

His voice was as cold as ice, all playful fondness gone from his tone. 

“L-leave? Freddie, I…”, the guitarist stammered, but the singer raised his hand slightly, making him stop in his tracks. 

“Please.”, Freddie said quietly, eyes not even meeting Brian´s pleading gaze anymore. 

“Why?”, the guitarist asked, stepping closer again and watching Freddie take a step back, eyes full of furry, although there seemed to be a flash of pain inside of them when he looked at Brian. 

“Because I fucking feel like it, Brian. Because…”, Freddie hissed harshly. 

Brian knew how the singer would get when he was once lost in his anger, knew how explosive, how cruel his rage could be once he was too far gone in it. The sensible thing would have been to apologize, to leave Freddie be for the night and to blame it on having a beer too many on the next day, to hope that this would be an incident they would never again talk about. 

But Brian had meant what he had said and Freddie knew that. How could he ever play it off as just a stupid joke? 

“Freddie, please I didn´t mean to offend you, I was just…”, Brian tried to get through to him. 

“Stop…I don´t…I don´t want to hear it, I just…I want you to leave…”, Freddie had taken another step back, skittish like a wounded animal running for cover. 

“Freddie…I`m sorry…”, Brian murmured and to his surprise, the singer´s gaze met his. There was so much hurt and fear inside of his friend´s eyes, an expression of pain, as if Brian´s revelation was a sort of betrayal, an insult to their friendship, to everything they had gone through over the years.

“Please just go…please…And ask Roger and John come with you please…It´s late, I´m not feeling well.”, the singer whispered in a quiet and weak voice, lowering his gaze once again. 

It was at this moment that Brian realised that he had well and truly messed things up. This had been a mistake, all of it. 

Their ride back to the hotel was deathly quiet. The air in the car seemed to vibrate with tension and unanswered questions after their rushed departure from the Duck House.

Freddie had barely spoken two words to them when they had left, while Brian struggled to make their bandmates understand that the singer wasn´t feeling well and that it would be best if they just left to go back to the hotel for the night.

Of course, neither Deaky nor Roger had bought it. John was sitting in the front, staring out of the window while the driver steered the car along the serpentines up to the hotel. It was the bassist´s way of dealing with these things, quietly waiting them out. 

Roger seemed to go for a much different approach though. Brian could feel the Blonde´s eyes on him almost constantly and when he turned his head to look at his friend, there was a downright angry expression on his features. 

“You really had to go and fuck it up, didn´t you Bri?”, the drummer asked, brows raised as if he was almost slightly annoyed with Brian. 

“What are you talking about?”, the guitarist asked, fear of discovery making him defensive and snappy. Had his friends heard what he had said to Freddie? Had they guessed? Had he really been so obvious, a fool in love for his bandmates to laugh at?

“Nothing…doesn´t matter...”, Roger murmured, shaking his head in disbelieve, gaze travelling back out of the window, looking out into the dark of the winding roads of Geneva. 

“What´s that supposed to mean?! What are you implying?”, Brian snapped back. He knew that it was dangerous to push his luck, but he had to find out, had to try and guess how much his friend´s knew.   
His cheeks were burning hotly with shame and he could feel John´s gaze on him as well. 

“Listen Brian…I really don´t want to intrude on things that aren´t my business to know about…but you´ve had…years…fucking years to do this…”, there was something unfamiliarly harsh in Roger´s bright blue eyes.

Brian felt his pulses speeding up, felt his mouth go dry.

“Wha-?”, he stammered, but Roger wasn´t finished. 

“And you´re doing this now? Now is when you finally grow the balls to…”, he stopped, shaking his head again, sighing. 

Brian took a deep breath. The last escape-route he could think of right now was denial, unwavering, constant denial. This wasn´t just about sparing his own graces. It was also about Freddie. 

“I don´t know what you´re talking about, Roger.”, he said in a surprisingly steady voice and shrugged. 

“Yeah of course you don´t, Brian.”, Roger murmured with a scoff., “Of course you fucking don´t…”

For the rest of their ride back to the hotel they were once again silent.


	3. Outside the Dawn is Breaking, But Inside In the Dark I´m Aching to Be Free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings,  
> here I am with chapter three of my little story! Brian and Freddie have a much needed talk and things between them keep changing while they explore their feelings for one another.  
> Enjoy!

Brian hadn´t slept one bit when the phone on his nightstand rang at 5 am in the morning. He had been sitting on the side of his bed, eyes burning with tiredness as he stared out of the window and watched the sunrise. 

The night had been horrible. In the quiet of his hotel room, the realisation of what he had done had finally hit Brian hard, sending him spiralling into a dark numbness, his heart clenching painfully every time he thought back to what had happened a few hours ago.

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have been so weak? 

By the time it was one in the morning, the realisation of the damage he had done descended on him with a violent outburst of self-hatred and anger. 

While he had been curling in on himself for the past hours, silently staring off into the distance, he was up from the bed withing seconds, heartbeat echoing in his ears, as he grabbed the half-empty glass of water on his bedside table, flinging it against the opposite wall, where it broke with a loud, shattering sound.

“Fuck!”, Brian shouted, breathing hard, but as quickly as the suddenly burst of anger had come, it did nothing but drain him of all his energy. Brian sank down onto the bed again, eyes burning with tears that he couldn´t cry. 

He felt like he was choking on his own breath. 

There was no taking it back, not anymore. He had to live with what he had told his friend. 

Afterwards Brian had sat on the edge of the bed and watched the sky turn from black to a lovely shade of bright pink, orange already licking at the outskirts of the mountains that seemed so close from his view over the lake. 

His fingers felt slightly numb with exhaustion when he picked up the ringing phone. Maybe it was Anita, worried that he hadn´t called her last night, like he usually did.  
“Hello?”, Brian murmured into the receiver, groggily rubbing his tired eyes. 

“It´s me…Freddie…”, said a quiet, soft voice on the other end and Brian felt his heartbeat picking up.

Never in a million years would he have expected that it was the singer who called him. Not after last night´s events. 

Freddie himself sounded tired. Had he been able to sleep last night? Or had he been lying awake, thinking, wondering, guessing? 

“Fred…hey…It´s so early…”, Brian blabbered, his confusion making him clumsy with his words. 

“Sorry darling, did I wake you up?”, the Persian asked, almost sounding a little concerned.

“No…no…I wasn´t sleeping…I was just a little worried about you…Are you alright?”, the guitarist asked, stumbling over his words, his brain foggy with exhaustion, feeling utterly overwhelmed. 

“Yeah…yeah, I am…em…listen darling…I…I´d like to talk…”, the singer´s voice showed a kind of uncertainty that he usually never displayed around Brian. He sounded reserved, as if Brian was a stranger almost. 

“Of course! Of course, we should talk because I…I´d like to apologize for…”, Brian heard himself blabbering on like an idiot. 

“Would you be free…right now?”, Freddie asked, voice so neutral and flat that Brian felt his heart clench once more. 

“Right now? As in…now?”, he asked.

“Maybe that´s a daft idea…”, Freddie murmured, always polite, always ready to reconsider just to cater towards Brian. 

“No, let´s…Where should we meet?”, Brian asked quickly. 

“Down at the studio…in…about half an hour?”, the singer suggested. 

Brian took a deep breath, already getting up from the bed, adrenalin rushing through his veins. 

“Yes…good…alright…I´ll…I´ll get ready. See you in half an hour.”, he said, frantically running a hand through his messy hair, fingers getting caught in the tangled curls. 

“Yes…See you, darling.”

Brian was the first one to arrive at the studio, the property still quiet, the air conditioning slightly too cold when he turned on the lights, dust floating in the light.

The plush carpet floor swallowed the sound of his steps when he went over to the small kitchen, starting the kettle and washing up some of the used mugs that had been left from the day before. 

His thoughts were running wild while he stood inside the windowless kitchen, his hands working under the hot stream of the water, his body on autopilot while his mind was bombarding him with questions and accusations. 

How could he even look Freddie in the eyes anymore, having been such a fool the night before?

How would they be able to continue their work? 

Lost in his thoughts, he had almost missed the distinct sound of steps nearing the kitchen and was slightly startled when the door opened.  
Freddie looked horrible, his eyes red-rimmed with lack of sleep, his face sickly pale. His smile had a nervous quality to it, his shyness making his gaze unsteady, not even being able to look Brian in the eyes properly. 

You did this to him!, his brain screamed at Brian, self-loathing coursing through his veins like venom. Look at what your stupid revelation has gotten you into, how you have hurt him with your foolishness!

“Oh, there you are darling! Been looking for you for a while, couldn´t find you anywhere.”, Freddie said in a polite tone, his voice slightly hoarse with exhaustion. 

“I´ve made some tea. Would you like some?”, Brian asked, feeling awkward and clumsy when he gestures over to the two steaming mugs of tea with milk and sugar on the counter. 

“Yes thank you, darling.”, Freddie replied and Brian picked up the mugs. A few drops of piping hot tea spilled onto his hand. 

“Shit!”, he cursed softly under his breath, not even thinking that his friend would have heard him, but Freddie was by his side in the blink of an eye, carefully taking one of the mugs from his hands.

“There we go, that´s better…”, he murmured, eyes meeting Brian´s gaze only briefly. A blood vessel must have exploded in one of his eyes over night, blood collecting in the tiny capillaries around his iris, a harsh halo of red around the dark brown. 

The sight of it was shocking to Brian, although he knew that there was nothing dangerous to it. 

“Thank you, Fred. Careful…I´ve filled them up a little too much, don´t spill anything on your hands, it´s so hot.”, he rambled, gaze fixed on the singer´s pale face, who was looking anywhere but Brian, avoiding his gaze again.

“No worries, dear. Let´s have a seat on the sofa, shall we?”

Carefully, they made their way out of the kitchen, along a stuffy hallway with walls covered in the number one records and into the spacious room in front of the recording studio.  
The place was usually used for them to have their meals at when they took breaks and was never very tidy, not too appealing to the eye. It still slightly smelled of the sandwiches they had had for lunch the day before. 

Shy, like awkward teenagers, they both took a seat on the sofa opposite a window looking out onto the parking lot. The sky outside was slowly turning to a pale blue colour and there was no cloud in sight. It would be a beautiful summer day. 

Freddie put down his mug on the couch table next to an empty coca cola can and a paper plate with crumbs on it, hands resting in his lap, taking a deep, steadying breath before he began to speak. 

“Listen Bri…I´m sorry for how I´ve reacted last night. I shouldn´t have been so…harsh…”, he said slowly, carefully, his dark eyes roaming around the room only to finally settle onto Brian. 

To the guitarist´s surprise, his friend seemed bashful, embarrassed even, a small smile appearing on his lips, upper-lip awkwardly hiding his front-teeth. 

“I mean I don´t know what has gotten into me, all those pills and dosages of stuff I have to take sometimes they just…get to me, you know…”, the singer tried to explain, a small, tense chuckle marking the end of his sentence, but Brian couldn´t take it any longer. 

This wasn´t right. He should be the one to be sorry!

“Freddie, listen…I´d like to apologize to you…”, the guitarist said quickly, but Freddie would have none of it, scrunching up his nose, shaking his head, a small gesture of his hand stopping Brian in his flow of words.

“Oh, no need for all of that, Brimi. I mean it obviously was meant in a way that…it wasn´t…really…I mean, it was a little joke, just a little bit of teasing, right? I mean of course it was, how could I misinterpret it so grossly, I am…”, to Brian´s horror, he watched Freddie blush, a small and awkward laugh escaping the singer, “Really I am slightly embarrassed, for…”

“Freddie…it wasn´t a joke.”, Brian said firmly, “I did not intend to tease you and I also did not say it in a…platonic way.”

The tense smile on the Persian´s features died down slowly, his tongue nervously flicking over his lower lip.  
“You…you didn´t?”, he asked quietly. 

“No Freddie, I meant it.”, Brian said, gaze fixed on his friend. There was no going back now. Brian knew that. 

He watched the other man take a deep breath, almost as if he was trying to process the information, eyes unfocused, upper lip quivering nervously.  
“Fuck!”, Freddie cursed suddenly. 

“Fred, listen to me. I´m sorry for telling you, okay? I shouldn´t have done it, was a an utterly stupid idea! I´ve ruined the night and…I´ve fucked it all up, I know…I-I´m sorry…I´m so damn sorry…”, the guitarist tried to explain, tried to minimize the damage he had done. 

“Well, you should be…fucking sorry…”, the singer panted, dark eyes burning with such an intense pain that Brian´s heart ached with sorrow. 

“I am…Freddie, believe me! I should have never told you, it was selfish and stupid and…”, he stammered, but Freddie only chuckled bitterly.

“You´re right darling! Because never would have been much better than now! I refuse to…Brian, I can´t…I…”, he got caught up in his words, breathing laboured, shaky hands wiping away a thin sheen of perspiration on top of his upper lip, “You don´t get to tell me about these things now…now that I´m fucking dying!”, the singer hissed and the words hit Brian like a bullet.

“Freddie, don´t…”, he pleaded, but this seemed to make his friend even more furious.

“Would you all stop being so uncomfortable with me simply stating the truth? I am dying, Brian! It is a fact! You should all get used to it for fuck´s sake!”, he said in a harsh tone that made the guitarist shut his mouth.

There was something brutally honest in the way Freddie had been dealing with his illness for the past couple of weeks. Maybe he was growing tired of pretending that everything was alright.

When Brian´s gaze met the singer´s, the boiling anger inside of his eyes seemed to have died down a little, making way for an expression of urgent intensity. 

“What I´m trying to say is that…you…should have told me sooner, Bri…Much sooner…”, the Persian whispered and Brian´s heart started beating faster. 

Could this be true? Was Freddie really saying that…?

“Like I told you last night…I´ve been meaning to for y-“, Brian tried to explain, but the singer simply shook his head at him, frantically getting up from his space on the sofa. 

“For years, Brian?! You´ve been meaning to tell me for years?! Why didn´t you do it then?”, he asked, voice growing in volume and breaking once again, a hoarse growl in the quiet of the room.

“I was a cowardly boy, Freddie…I didn´t dare to…to admit to myself, that…”, the guitarist stammered. 

“Well, I fucking hated myself for being a fucking faggot and still I couldn´t live another second knowing that I was living a lie!”, Freddie shouted at him, shaking hands raised. 

“I´m not you, Freddie! I´m not as brave as you are!”, Brian had gotten up from the sofa as well. 

The singer sneered, a bitter laugh escaping his lips over his laboured breathing.  
“I´m not fucking brave, Brian…has nothing to do with bravery…”, he murmured, pulling his lip tightly over his teeth, shaking his head in disbelieve. 

“But it has, Freddie. You always were the brave one of us!”, Brian said, taking a step towards his friend and then another one. He was so close now, he could have touched the other man, but he didn´t dare to. 

When Freddie looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, he suddenly seemed vulnerable, so small and frail that Brian wanted nothing but to pull him into a hug, to hold him, to protect him.

“Years….fucking years you´re saying…”, the singer whispered, voice thick with emotion.

“Yes…”, Brian replied, shame making him speak quietly.

“Even back then? Back when Queen…when it all started…”, Freddie asked, voice breaking. 

“Yes.”, Brian said, this time even quieter. 

“Back in Japan?”

Freddie´s voice was gaining back its strength. There was a stubborn notion of demand in his tone now. 

“Yes…”, the word had never seemed more painful to Brian. 

Suddenly, Freddie´s eyes seemed to shimmer wetly, voice shaking with a strain, a vein on his neck bulging.  
“Back in Munich, Brian? Back in fucking Munich?”, he half whispered, half hissed. 

Even saying the name of the German town seemed painful to him and hearing it had the exact same effect on Brian. 

“Hot Space” had been the album that had almost broken Queen, had almost broken them. Back then, it had felt like the darkness that Brian had been running away from for all of his life had finally caught up with him. 

They had spent endless, dreary days in the studio while it was pouring down with rain outside, bickering on the good days, fighting and shouting on the bad days, slamming doors, saying so many hurtful things that Brian now wished he could take back.

And the nights…oh god, those dark, lonely nights spent worrying, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, calling Chrissie on the phone, not sleeping and then sleeping way too much, not eating, feeling like he was going to go insane when he watched Freddie come to the studio in the mornings, still high, still in his clothes from last night, hickeys on his neck, eyes bloodshot and dark with pain. 

Because the singer had been hurting as well, Brian knew, had always known.

“Yes Freddie…”, he replied. 

“Fuck!”, the Persian cursed, blinking rapidly against the tears that Brian could see shimmering in his friend´s eyes, “Fuck Brian…fucking Munich…”, he whispered under his breath. 

“Fred…I…”, Brian said, trying to get through to him, hand reaching out to touch the singer´s arm, but Freddie jerked back.

“I was so bloody…I was so damn…”, he hissed and then, in a much softer tone, added “…so alone.”

Brian lowered his gaze, the pain in Freddie´s eyes hitting him like a punch in the chest. 

“I know…I know it was horrible…I was…”, he stammered, but he couldn´t finish the sentence. 

I was very sad, Freddie, he tried to tell the other man with his eyes. I was depressed…I still am. Those dark thoughts, they suck the life out of me. Seeing you like this…it´s killing me.

“Yeah, I know you were…”, the Persian whispered and there was something so soft, so tender to his voice, that Brian felt his breath hitch. 

A defeated kind of silence settled in between them, the realisation that none of their words, none of their most urgent pleading could bring back the years…the years lost to waiting, waiting for something to happen and never daring to act.

“Well…it´s…it´s too late now, isn´t it?”, Freddie said quietly, voice shaking, too weak to hold back the tears as they made him sniffle slightly and scrunch up his nose.

“Don´t…Don´t say that, Freddie, don´t…”, Brian pleaded, but the singer had nothing but a tired sneer for him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable, Brian? Hearing me say how my life is slowly drawing to a close… because you´ve only now worked up the nerve to tell me that you…”, he halted, lips forming the words but no sound coming out. 

Brian found the courage to finish his sentence. 

“…that I love you.”, he said, voice surprisingly steady, gaze focused on Freddie´s tearful eyes. 

“Yes…because I´m…fucking dying…and you think it´s a clever idea to…”, the singer whispered, pressing the back of his hand against his quivering upper lip, trembling with the effort to hold back his tears. 

“Freddie…”, Brian whispered reaching out once again and when his hand made contact with Freddie´s slim upper arm, gently holding onto it, the singer released a sound that sounded like a tiny, hiccupping sob. 

“Fuck Bri…I used to be so in love with you…back when we started writing songs together…when we recorded the first two album…”, he whispered, a tear running down from the corner of his eye, leaving a small, wet trail down his high cheekbone.

Brian pulled him closer and the Persian let him, leaning into the guitarist´s tender touch as he wiped away the tears from his cheeks with shy, gentle fingers.

“Sometimes…I thought I couldn´t take it anymore…that I couldn´t live another day…just watching you from afar…and not having you…just this once…”, Freddie said, dark eyes gazing up to Brian´s hazel ones. 

Seeing Freddie so vulnerable and in such emotional distress was breaking Brian´s heart. Still, there was a kind of disbelieving joy growing inside of him, upon hearing that the feelings he had harboured for his all of these years had not been in vain. 

Freddie had felt the same. Had always felt the same as him. 

All of those years they had wasted…years they could never get back, forever lost in the cruelty of time. 

The thought made a sudden sense of bravery surge up inside of the guitarist. 

“Sometimes I wished you would have just kissed me…when we sat hunched over that notebook, writing down all that nonsense…”, he whispered, hands now resting on the singer´s shoulders.

“What a glorious kind of nonsense it was…”, the singer replied with a shaky smile, another tear falling from his eye.

“Truly…”, Brian said, reciprocating his smile, blushing slightly. 

How old it made him feel to think back to those times, times long gone. When he closed his eyes, he could still remember the feeling of Freddie´s gentle hands, the sensation of his touch when he carefully applied the white nail polish to Brian´s brittle nails. 

Black and white. Night and Day. The Black Queen and the White Queen. Their companionship had known many names over the years. How funny, how ironic it was, that it had been love all along.  
Funny How Love Is, Brian thought with a sad smile.

“I´d have never dared to, Brimi…I was so scared of losing you.”, the singer said, leaning in closer, his hands now resting on Brian´s slim waist. 

“I never even dreamed of someone like you considering me to be anything but…someone so…”, the guitarist stammered.

“Someone like me…?”, Freddie asked and Brian couldn´t help but notice the sliver of insecurity in his voice, the flash of worry inside of his red-rimmed eyes. For all of his flamboyance and confidence on stage, there was another side, another layer to Freddie, a shy, self-conscious boy, a bit lost, a bit lonely, always searching, never really finding. 

How very dearly Brian loved this boy, loved him just as much as he loved the man that went out on stage to charm thousands of people with his voice. 

“Someone so beautiful, so creative, so…”, he whispered and watched his friend blush a lively shade of crimson, while lowering his gaze shyly. 

“Says you…world´s greatest guitarist, astrophysicist and cleverest person I know…”, Freddie replied quietly, his gaze meeting Brian´s again. 

“No I´m not…”, now it was the guitarist´s turn to flush, a flattered little chuckle escaping his lips.

“Oh shut up, darling!”, Freddie lightly hit Brian´s chest with his hand, a small smile spreading on his lips. 

They looked at one another, their usual air of pleasant ease having returned. But Brian still felt like there were things he needed to say, words he needed to get off his chest. 

“Freddie…I just want you to know, that…this is not…I´m not…I didn´t expect you to…”,he tried to explain, but his words caused Freddie´s sweet smile to turn bitter and slightly sad. 

“To reciprocate your feelings? But that´s what´s truly fucked up about the whole business, isn´t it? You´re in a relationship with the woman you love, a woman you´ve fought for for years…and I´m married, not by the law but by heart, to the man I love, to the man with whom I want to spent the rest of my days with…who´s sweet and kind and who treats me right…”

A certain kind of tenderness and warmth entered Freddie´s voice when he spoke of Jim and for the first time, Brian seemed to understand. His jealousy slowly died down as he, piece by piece, word by word, thought by thought, understood, what it was that Freddie was trying to say. 

“I love Anita.”, he replied.

“I know you do. And I love Jim.”, Freddie said. 

“But I love you as well.”, Brian whispered, looking into the singer´s big, brown eyes. 

“And I love you, Bri…”, Freddie replied and his heart seemed to skip a beat. 

The words left Freddie breathless, baffled by his own courage to speak them into existence and therefore make them real. 

But his silence soon turned into a bitter kind of amusement. 

“Well…that´s just a bit shit, isn´t it darling.”, he chuckled, almost choking on the words, smiling up at Brian until a hollow kind of laughter started to shake his chest. 

Still, the feeling was contagious, leaving Brian in a similar mood, desperately clinging to his sanity. 

“Yeah…really it is a bit…a bit shit…”, the guitarist replied and all of a sudden, his friend´s smile turned genuine, bitterness vanishing into something softer, something warm and sweet, something that Brian had always hoped to be reserved only for him. 

“You´re so beautiful, Freddie…when you´re smiling, it´s…”, he murmured and the singer sighed, shaking his head. 

“Don´t be daft, Brimi…I´m not…I look horrendous. That´s why I´ve been hiding away from everyone. People get uncomfortable when they see me like this. I scare the shit out of them.”, he murmured, a deep sadness to his voice, pain inside of his eyes.

“That´s not true…”, Brian whispered, tightening his hold on the singer´s shoulder´s, but Freddie would have none of it.

“But it is, darling.”, he said quietly, another sad smile on his lips. 

“Fred…please don´t…do you really believe that people think such horrible things about you?”, the guitarist asked him, gaze glued to the other man´s face. 

“Don´t you read the papers, Bri? It´s everywhere…”, Freddie whispered and suddenly seemed to be so weighed down, that Brian felt his heart clench inside of his chest.

Of course, the singer always laughed and joked about the headlines of the tabloids and their wild assumptions about his private life, calling him all kinds of horrible things, making accusations, even invading his private space just to find out more, to dig deeper. But Brian knew how it was eating away at his friend, how hard it was to live a life in the spotlights, to not lose oneself in the all-consuming demand for fresh and new information and juicy stories. 

He had been there too. His divorce from Chrissie had been all over the media and Brian had sometimes felt like he would go insane. He had protected his ex-wife and his children from the monsters behind the cameras, trying to snap picture, trying to find out more and more. 

Still, he felt like he had lost the battle in the end.

“I don´t want you to believe a single thing that they say about you. They´re liars, horrible people, the whole lot of them.”, Brian said, intensely looking at his friend, but Freddie only smiled tiredly. 

“You´ve always seen me as a much better man than I actually am, Brian dear. You´re too idealistic for your own good. I´m nothing but an old, miserable fairy crawling towards his painful end…”

“Stop it!”, Brian said harshly, but suddenly, Freddie gripped his shoulders tightly, leaning in so close that Brian could smell earl grey tea and minty tooth paste on the singer´s breath. 

“Make me!”, he hissed, finger´s digging into Brian´s shoulders. There was something hauntingly intense inside of his dark eyes. 

“Kiss me breathless, Brian…Push me hard against the wall, touch me, mark me…show me what you´ve been wanting to do for all those years…”, the words left both him and Brian shaken.

Even the mental image of doing these things, of finally being able to allow himself to think about them, knowing that Freddie wanted them just as much as him, was making Brian´s heart hammer away in his chest and his breathing become slightly laboured. 

“You have no idea, Freddie…How much I…”, he murmured, pulling the singer closer. 

In a spur of passion, Freddie buried his face in the crook of Brian´s neck, breath hot and rapid against the skin of the guitarist´s neck. Brian felt a shudder running down his spine. His hands restlessly ran over the singer´s shoulders, the back of his head, into his hair. 

His eyes fluttered shut, cheek pressed against Freddie´s bare neck. He felt like he was getting drunk on the other man´s touch, his smell, the feeling of holding him so close. 

“Brian…”, Freddie whispered against his skin and his name sounded like a desperate sob and the answer to all of his prayers at the same time.

When Brian softly kissed the tanned skin above the collar of his shirt, Freddie moaned brokenly. The sound seemed obscenely erotic and immense powerful at the same time, their bodies flush against each other. 

Brian could feel the soft peach fuzz of Freddie´s hairline against his lips, the heat of his skin. He could smell soap on him, sweet like rose petals and laundry detergent. There was a small smudge of shaving cream behind the singer´s ear and Brian wiped it away with his thumb, only to then nuzzle at the soft flesh of the other man´s earlobe, which made Freddie sigh and cling even tighter onto him.

The sudden sound of steps coming closer from the other room broke the spell they had been under. Quickly, Freddie took a step back, clearing his throat, running a shaky hand over his mussed hair, taking a deep, steadying breath. 

They had but the time to share another meaningful glance, another knowing smile before the door opened and Roger stood in the doorway, looking at them with tired eyes, a mug of coffee in his hand.  
“What are two doing in here so early?”, he asked, blue eyes drifting from Freddie to Brian. 

The guitarist felt like they had been caught red-handed still. Freddie´s cheeks still carried a telling flush and Brian´s own clothes were slightly rumpled, showing the marks that Freddie´s hands had left on them when he had hugged Brian tightly. 

“Good morning to you as well Roger.”, Freddie said, eyebrows raised on mock-offence. “We were actually going over the notes I´ve made for a song the other day. I wanted to get Brian´s opinion on it so we could try out some of the guitar chords.”

Roger´s looked at them, brows raised, smile awfully knowing. 

“Oh alright…and here I was, thinking that you two made up after whatever conversation you had out in the garden last night.”

Brian couldn´t help but lower his glaze, feeling heat creeping up his neck. Roger was much too clever for his own good and he knew them far too well for them to hide anything from him. 

“Well, when you´re both done pretending to not know what I´m talking about, you can come over to the kitchen. Deaks and I brought over some croissants from the hotel.”

It had been a week since their early-morning conversation back at the studio and things had changed between Freddie Brian, although the guitarist felt like these changes were both subtle and fundamental at the same time. 

They were more careful with each other, softer, more attentive, almost as if both of them wwere waiting for the other one to take the next step, even though Brian was pretty sure that neither him nor Freddie had a clue of what this next step should be. 

The guitarist had been relieved that both Roger and John had refrained from commenting on any suspicions they might have had about their previous conflict. Both seemed happy enough with the fact that they could continue their work on the album. 

Still, Brian saw the gazes their drummer was shooting the bassist, when him and Freddie sat together on the sofa, knees touching, working on a song and discussing lyrics. They most definitely did know that something was up. 

Dinner on Friday took place at the Duck House, as it always had. It was almost strange for Brian to be back. He hadn´t spent another evening with Freddie since the incident a week ago, not because the singer wouldn´t be happy to have him around, but because he had been too scared of what he could say, what he could do in a spur of the moment when they were alone. 

Although there was a sense of relief to finally telling his friend about his feelings for him and hearing that the other man felt the same, he still felt guilty about it. 

Sometimes on their lunch breaks, he could hear Freddie talking to Jim on the phone in the other room, a gentle smile on his tired face, always assuring his husband that they would be back soon and ending each conversation with a soft “I love you, my darling…miss you…yeah, I will…of course…Love you, baby…bye…bye bye…” or something the like. 

The words haunted Brian, making him feel like an intruder, not only a cheater but also a homewrecker. God, he should have listened to his conscience, telling him to take those feelings to the grave with him.

But it was too late now. 

Still, after dinner, Brian couldn´t help but stay behind at Freddie´s place on this Friday night, Roger and John going back to the hotel on their own. 

Brian had tried to at least be of some help, cleaning the dishes and drying them, which Freddie of course had greatly protested again. He had been making some tea for them and when he returned to the living, he saw his friend sitting on the piano stool, smiling up at Brian when he saw him entering. 

“Oh thank you darling, you always know just exactly what I need. I was dying for a cuppa, it´s so chilly today.”, Freddie sighed when Brian handed him the mug, warming his hands on it. 

Brian´s gaze clung to the silver wedding ring Freddie was wearing, the light catching in the shiny material. A reminder, a call for his decency. Freddie was Jim´s, not his, never his.

The day had been rainy and overcast and the nights in Switzerland, even in the summer, could get quite cold. The sliding doors were slightly open to let in some fresh air and Brian supressed a little shiver. 

Freddie patted the space on the wide piano stool next to him as a sign for Brian to take a seat next to him. When Brian sat down, they naturally fell into their old habit, sitting so close that their shoulders and elbows were touching.

“There´s a song I´d like you to help me with.”, Freddie said, taking a quick sip of tea and then placing the mug on top of the piano right next to a cluttered collection of wrinkled papers of all shapes and sizes, doodles and other miscellaneous bits such as receipts and old plane tickets. 

Freddie had always been bad at throwing stuff out and it amazed Brian how the singer was able to keep track of the chaos and managed to find what he was looking for relatively quickly. 

He pulled out a lined sheet of paper that looked like he had ripped it out of a notebook, the edges slightly jagged, the writing on it done in messy pencil, lines crossed out and then added somewhere else.  
The Show Must Go On, it said on the top of the page and Brian felt his heart clench with anticipation. 

“I´m just going to…sing it, alright?”, Freddie proposed and Brian gave him a little nod. There it was again, Freddie´s shyness, his fear of rejection, of being ridiculed.  
Brian gave him a reassuring little nod and Freddie began to sing. 

“Empty spaces, what are we living for?  
Abandoned places, I guess we know the score, on and on  
Does anybody know what we are looking for?”

There was something clear and powerful to the Persian´s voice from the moment he opened his mouth. In recent months, Freddie´s vocal abilities had suffered just as much as his overall health, voice cracks and struggles to hit the notes right had become a constant problem and it had been painful to watch. 

Tonight, Freddie sang like there was nothing holding him back. 

“Another hero, another mindless crime  
Behind the curtain, in the pantomime  
Hold the line  
Does anybody want to take it anymore?”

Brian soaked up the words like a sponge, even though they seemed to slowly enter his heart like small needle pins. He felt his fingers digging into his knees to try and hold on to something, felt his chest growing tight when Freddie took a deep breath to launch on to the chorus.

“The show must go on,  
The show must go on, yeah  
Inside my heart is breaking,  
My makeup may be flaking  
But my smile, still, stays on…”

The singer was heaving for breath, when the last keys of the piano faded into silence and he had sung the final words. 

“Freddie…that´s…that´s beautiful…”, Brian managed to get out after a second of stunned silence and the other man blushed, his cheeks already quite rosy with exertion. 

The lyrics left him speechless, numbed by the sheer force of the pain inside of the words, the honesty of them. 

“Thank you, darling…”, he whispered hoarsely, voice entirely spent but there was a warm twinkle in his dark eyes, when he looked at Brian. “There´s more to it…a second verse, but that´s not finished yet…”, Freddie stammered, gaze shifting back the piece of paper, nervously smoothing over a wrinkled edge.

“It´s very powerful, Fred. I…I can´t even put into words…how…”, Brian tried to explain and the singer beamed up to him upon hearing his praise. 

“I still think there´s something missing from it…something like…”, Freddie said, still taking deep breaths in through his nose, a cheeky glint to his eyes, a breathless laugh escaping his lips before he said, “…a guitar solo maybe…”

“It would be a pleasure.”, Brian replied with a smile, feeling warmth spread inside of his chest. 

Over the years, it had often been Brian who Freddie had come to when he had had a new idea, maybe even just a vague concept of a song and needed someone´s opinion on it. Usually, the guitarist took the liberty to dig deep, to make corrections on the lyrics, the composition and the tune, sometimes even Freddie´s own piano keys. Because he knew that even for all of his complaining, Freddie appreciated his opinion. 

“Thank you…darling…”, Freddie said and it was only now that Brian noticed how Freddie´s previously flushed cheeks had become an unhealthy shade of blotchy crimson. He was sweating and his breathing was still just as laboured as when he had finished the song, if not more. 

“Fred…are you alright?”, Brian asked, trying to sound as calm as possible. 

Seeing his friend like this wasn´t entirely unfamiliar to Brian. Sometimes after singing, the Persian would get very out of breath. The dust in the air of closed rooms irritated his overly sensitive airways and made it hard for him to breathe. 

Still, it was terrifying for Brian to watch. 

“I`m alright…I just…I need some air…”, Freddie muttered, already getting up from the piano stool, stumbling, almost tripping over his own feet, almost falling. 

The guitarist was up just as quickly, steadily holding onto his friend´s slim arm.

“Shall we go outside into the garden for a bit?”, he asked, trying hard to keep his voice and demeanour as calm as possible, while he watched the other man struggle to stay upright, to even stand. 

“Yes please…”, Freddie rasped, while still mustering up the strength to sweetly smile at Brian. 

“I´ll get you a jacket and some shoes.”, Brian said, helping Freddie to sit down again and vanishing into the hallway, where he picked up a pair of Freddie´s house slippers, his own shoes, his jacket and one of the singer´s woollen cardigans, to bring all of it back to the living room and help Freddie get dressed into it as well as putting on his own shoes. 

“There we go, let´s go outside, shall we?”

Brian was glad that the singer hadn´t made a fuss about putting on a jacket, feeling personally responsible for keeping him warm and safe. 

There was a little drizzle of rain in the air, but Freddie didn´t seem to mind. He had a small smile on his face when they stepped out of the sliding doors and into the darkness of the garden.  
Slowly, they made their way to the footbridge, where they came to a halt, looking out over the lake, watching the rain ripple the surface of the water. 

Brian had placed a hand on Freddie´s back to support him and he kept it there, resting on the Persian´s waist now. Slowly, he felt the singer taking deeper, more relaxed breaths, in through the nose, out through his mouth, eyes closed, seemingly enjoying the feeling of the spray of rain on his heated skin. 

“Thank you, Brimi…”, he whispered quietly, leaning his head against Brian´s shoulder, a sudden tiredness seemingly taking a hold of him.  
“Thank you for what, Fred?”, the guitarist asked gently. 

“For being there…always being there…”, the singer murmured, nuzzling against Brian´s neck, as the guitarist instinctively pulled him closer. He had rarely felt so protective of anyone but his children before, but with Freddie, he wanted nothing but to keep any harm away from him and to hold him tight. 

“You´re very welcome, sweetheart.”, Brian whispered into his friend´s ear, letting his gaze travel over the lake once again. 

He squinted his eyes when suddenly, he could see three white forms on the surface of the lake, slowly gliding closer. 

“Freddie, look…it´s the swans…”, he whispered, keeping the volume of his voice down to not scare the graceful animals away. They had come quite close to them and were now a mere few meters away from the footbridge.

Freddie had lifted up his head and with big brown eyes looked out onto the water, a childlike joy to his features.

“Yes…there they are…oh, Brian…”, he sighed, his voice breaking, his eyes becoming tearful. 

“Sorry…what a silly old puff I am, crying over swans, it´s ridiculous…”, the singer stammered, wiping at his eyes with a shaking hand, seeming quite embarrassed about his emotional reaction. 

“It´s okay, don´t worry, Fred…”, Brian whispered quietly, a soft smile on his lips. They both looked out onto the lake for a few silent moments, watching the swans floating by. It was the first time on their trip that they had seen them. 

“Brian…will you take me in your arms already?”, Freddie asked quietly, as if he had been waiting for Brian to do so for ages, as if he still felt like they weren´t close enough to one another. The singer had a way of demanding these things, charmingly eloquent and shy at the same time and Brian had hardly been able to say no to him, ever.

“Of course…come here, you.”, the guitarist replied with a small chuckle, laying his arms around the singer again and pulling him closer, feeling a shiver run down the other man´s spine. “Are you cold? You´re shivering…”

“No…no I´m not cold…”, Freddie replied quietly, his eyes half-closed. 

Brian ran the tip of his nose gently along the line of the singer´s jaw while his thumb wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. He could feel a smile blossoming onto Freddie´s lips.

Slowly, the singer lifted his head to look up into Brian´s eyes. Their faces were so close that the tip of his long narrow nose was almost touching Freddie´s.

“Think you´ll be brave enough this time, darling?”, his friend asked him with dark shimmering eyes, his smile growing slightly mischievous, “We´ve been like this a few times before over the years, do you remember?”

Of course Brian did remember. 

There had been endless nights like these, drunken nights in whatever city around the world, the early hours of the morning, when they had clung to each other to keep upright, a long embrace before saying good night, a glance full of unspoken words, an opportunity lost. 

Nights like these, backstage before a gig, the adrenalin running high, Freddie pulling Brian into a hug, just for good measure, just for good luck, Brian looking down at Freddie´s sultrily lined eyes and his plump lips, feeling the material of a sparkly leotard, a leather jacket or the bare skin of his torso under his palms before he had to let go of him. 

There had been endless moments like these, times when Brian had wished he had been braver, had thrown all of his doubts over board to do it, to go for it, just like he had been meaning to for twenty odd years. 

“Course I remember…”, he whispered, “Gone over it in my head about a million times.”

“Well…then you know just what to do…”, Freddie replied, his fingers on the collar of Brian´s shirt, slowly pulling him closer. 

In the end, the guitarist couldn´t have said who had kissed who first. His lips met the singer´s half-way, his nose awkwardly bumping into Freddie´s, the Persian´s teeth slightly in the way. They both giggled and then Freddie laid his head slightly to the side and it was perfect. 

Electricity seemed to run up his spine, his neck was tingling and he could hear the blood rushing inside of his ears. 

The singer´s lips had always been one of those weaknesses Brian just had when it came to Freddie, a sinful spot his gaze would often travel to, imagining what it would be like to kiss them, to feel them on his, plump and soft.

It felt right. It felt like it had always been like this, like this was what they were supposed to be doing, what they were supposed to be. And after so many years of denying this to himself, of telling himself no, of feeling guilty, it still felt bitter-sweet. 

When the singer drew back to take a deep, shuddering breath, Brian pulled him even closer, now cheek to cheek with him. 

There was a raggedness to his breath and his hands were clinging hard to Brian´s back. His cheeks felt very hot once again. 

“Freddie…are you okay? You´re breathing so hard, is everything alright?”, Brian asked, pulling back a little to be able to look at his friend. 

The singer´s eyes were glassy and a thin sheen of perspiration was shimmering on his forehead. 

“Yes…my legs are just a little wobbly…”, Freddie admitted, holding onto Brian even harder, but in that moment, his strength seemed to leave him, his knees buckling slightly.

“Oh, careful…”, Brian murmured, quickly holding onto his friend, keeping him upright, feeling Freddie leaning heavily against him. 

“Don´t worry, I´m fine…I´m just fine, darling…just a little…dizzy…”, Freddie stammered, his speech slightly slurred. 

If Brian felt worried, scared even, he didn´t show it. “Come on, let´s get you back inside.”, he said in a gentle voice. 

Freddie was about to take his first wobbly step in the direction of the house, but Brian would have none of it. With the practiced ease of a father carrying his tired children to bed, he picked up the singer´s lithe form, one arm under his knees, the other one placed safely on his back, almost like a groom carrying inside his bride. 

“Brimi, no…let me down…”, Freddie protested weakly, but he was too tired, too exhausted to make much a of a fuss and instead, leaned his head against the guitarist´s shoulder, while Brian carried him back to the house. 

Freddie had always loved being picked up, being man-handled a little and since he had always been of a slight built, they had indulged in it plenty when play-fighting or when the singer jumped, almost pranced on them after a gig, when they were all high on adrenalin and some other substances, feeling on top of the world. 

Sometimes, he had carried Freddie like this when the singer had gotten so drunk that he could barely walk anymore. 

Brian could feel the Persian´s bony hip knocking against his, his weight so slight that it was almost shocking to the guitarist. 

Freddie giggled when Brian maneuverer them through the sliding doors into the house and then, carefully sat them down on the sofa. It was only natural that Freddie stayed on his lap, Brian holding him, soothing him with gentle touches until the singer´s breathing slowed down again, until it almost seemed as if he was asleep. 

“How are you feeling, Fred? Do you need anything?”, Brian asked in a quiet and gentle voice. 

“No…I´m fine…I´m just fine…”, Freddie whispered, snuggled up against the curly haired man, seeming so vulnerable in his arms.

But he wasn´t fine. Two hours later, Phoebe, Freddie´s personal assistant, called the doctor, who came to see the singer. 

Freddie had a temperature, sinking into a restless, almost delirious sleep, laying on his bed and while the doctor examined him. 

Brian felt guilty like he had never felt before, praying, hoping and failing to convince himself that he wasn´t the cause for his friend´s sudden decline in health. 

“He needs rest.”, the doctor said an hour later, when Freddie had been given medication and the strict order to stay in bed. “It´s just a common cold, but we should be careful. No work for at least a week”  
His harsh accent sounded like a threat to Brian and a reason to protest for Freddie. 

“I can´t allow myself to rest… I need to work…”, he murmured, stubborn like a child, “We have to finish the album. That´s what´s important.”

The next morning, he was back at the studio, his ears deaf to his bandmates protest and pleas for him to take a week off.

“The guitar solo…you promised, Brimi…”, he asked in raspy voice, sitting down on a chair next to Brian, who held onto the Red Special tightly, like it was a life boat. 

“Of course, Fred.”, Brian said with a gentle smile and Freddie beamed up at him, pale and sweating, but still so full of life, so full of love. 

“Do you need anything, mate? Glass of water? Cuppa tea?”, Roger asked, but the singer just shook his head. 

“No thank you, darling. Let´s get cracking with work. Show must go an…after all.”


	4. Ride The Wild Wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my darlings,  
> I haven´t posted in a while and I´m really sorry for it. I really gotta figure out a better writing schedule so I can update more frequently.  
> Yesterday was my birthday and it kinda made me realize how grateful I am to have started writing about six months ago and how much happiness it brings me to post on here. Every kudos and comment is so much appreciated, so thank you!  
> Enjoy this new chapter! Hope you are all doing well!

“Jim darling, can you get Delilah on the phone for me?”, Freddie asked into the receiver of the phone, a beaming smile on his pale and tired face.

“Course I can, honey. She´s right here…”, Brian heard Jim replying, voice sounding slightly distorted through the speaker of the phone.

Brian had just entered the small sitting area in front of studio that one had to cross to get through the kitchen when he saw Freddie being on the phone with Jim, just like every day after lunch.

“Delilah darling, daddy wants to say hi…Delilah…there we go…Say hi to daddy!”, the guitarist heard Jim saying. 

“Hello my sweetheart!”, Freddie cooed and blushed with happiness. 

Brian had been meaning to go to get a coffee from the kitchen and was now torn between going over to the other room, which meant that Freddie would notice him standing there or quietly going back into the studio to wait until the Persian was done. 

He heard a pitiful little meow from the phone and a joyful giggle from the singer. 

Brian felt like it was silly to wait around any longer. The smile that he and Freddie shared when Brian walked by was shy but genuine, an odd combination of awkward and sweet. 

For a second, time seemed to stand still, an entire conversation going on between the two of them without any words being said. 

It had been like this for the past two weeks or so, walking on eggshells around each other, hushed conversations and secret glances. Brian knew he should be feeling bad about this, but him and Freddie had begun to lead an entire life without their friends knowing about it. 

Without Jim knowing…or Anita. 

Are you going to come over tonight?, Freddie´s eyes seemed to ask. 

If you´d have me…again, Brian´s raised brows and slightly lowered corners of his mouth told the singer. 

Of course, darling, Freddie´s warm gaze seemed to say. 

“Fred honey, are you still there?”, Jim´s voice asked from the receiver and broke the spell. It was only now that they noticed Delilah’s constant meowing coming from the receiver. 

“Yes sorry darling, silly old me, I got distracted again.”, Freddie chirped and Brian got on his way to the kitchen. 

Brian was almost thankful for the sound of the kettle boiling once he had entered the kitchen, keeping him from hearing any more of the conversation Freddie was having with his husband. 

It wasn´t that he was jealous. Freddie´s I love yous for Jim weren’t something that hurt him. How could they? Jim was making Freddie very happy, he was keeping him safe, keeping him sane when times got tough. Jim loved Freddie and the singer loved him just as much. 

It was something that Brian had to come to terms with, that they both had realised after they had come clear about their feelings for each other. 

Their love was one that had been born almost two decades ago, a flame that had been burning, not destructive, but warming, nourishing even. 

Their hearts had clung together for twenty odd years without knowing of the other one´s feelings and while their closeness had lasted, they both had fallen in love with other people. 

It did not diminish their feelings for each other but rather validated them. At least that was what Brian told himself, at the end of the day, when he left Freddie´s house late at night after hours of sitting and talking, legs touching, getting lost in conversations about life and about their dreams, just like in the old days. 

Of course, when he laid in bed in his dark hotel room, the doubts came. And even though the darkness inside of Brian´s mind came creeping back in, telling him that he was a cheater, a homewrecker, a liar, a moron who clung to this idealistic idea of love to shield himself from the truth, to cover up his own indecent acts, he knew in his heart that those allegations weren´t true. 

What Freddie and him did didn´t feel wrong. They were both craving the other´s company, the other´s comfort. It was as if they couldn´t bear to be apart for too long, as if both of them were aware that although they tried to push it away, time was running out. 

No more kisses had been traded, nothing else had happened between them physically, even though Brian wanted to, oh God, how much he craved to be close to the other man. 

But he knew that it would not be appreciated. Freddie had gotten insecure about his looks and sometimes when Brian simply looked at him for too long, he lowered his gaze, blushing, lips thin with the agony of feeling unworthy of his friend´s adoration and love. 

Brian jumped when he suddenly felt a gentle hand on his upper arm. As the guitarist turned his head, his hazel eyes met the soft, brown ones of Freddie, who smiled shyly at him, upper lip tucked over his front teeth. 

“Oh sorry dear, didn´t mean to startle you.”, the singer said. 

“It´s alright, no worries, Fred.”, Brian said, feeling a smile blooming on his lips.

They sort off hovered in front of each other, much closer than they would have been, had Roger and John been around. Freddie´s hand hadn´t left the guitarist´s arm, Brian ignored the whistling kettle to gently place a hand on the Persian´s waist. 

“I just wanted to ask if you´d like come around tonight?”, the singer murmured, voice slightly lowered but his gaze not leaving Brian´s. 

“I thought we´ve already talked about this.”, the guitarist replied, an amused glint in his eyes. 

Freddie raised his brows slightly, but his smile seemed knowing. When he smiled like this, it almost seemed like nothing had changed, like no time had passed at all. 

“Non-verbal communication really is one of our strong-suits, isn´t it?”, Freddie replied and leaned in a little closer. 

“How else would I have known when it was time to stop my annoyingly elaborate guitar solo on stage, eh?”, Brian said and Freddie giggled like a little boy, flashes fluttering shut. 

“Lovely guitar solos…genius…wonderful…”, he murmured under his breath, which made Brian chuckle. 

When their gazes found each other again, there was such a fondness inside the singer´s warm brown eyes that Brian felt his heart beating faster. 

“Phoebe´s making mushroom risotto for dinner.”, Freddie murmured with a wink. 

“Sounds lovely…”, the guitarist replied and in a spur of the moment, leaned in closer to press a quick, smacking kiss to Freddie´s cheek, right above the dimple next to the corner of his mouth, which made the singer chuckle. 

Freddie´s hand wandered up to the back of Brian´s neck and when the guitarist wanted to pull away, the singer leaned in, capturing his lips in a gentle kiss that made Brian´s heart flutter. 

It should have been short and sweet, but neither of them was willing to pull back, both relishing in the feeling of the other one´s lips, of the softness, the intimacy of the moment. 

Freddie hummed quietly, when Brian´s tongue gently licked against his lips and he opened his mouth to the first touch of it, leaning in closer while the guitarist pulled him in, arms now holding him tightly. 

For a second, Brian thought about how ironic it was, amusing almost, both of them well into their forties, snogging like two hormonal teenagers in the small, stuffy kitchen of a recording studio in Switzerland. 

What were the odds of this, the odds of their journey taking them here, to his exact place? Brian didn´t know, wasn´t even able to figure it out, not even if he used his rational mind. All he knew was that he was happy, that it felt right, that it felt like it was meant to be.

Their kisses had turned much deeper, an intense kind intimacy to the way their lips moved against each other, to the way Freddie´s tongue teased Brian´s only to then pliantly let him claim his mouth. 

They were standing so close that their bodies were pressed flush against each other and Brian felt heat creeping up his neck when a certain sensation started to spark in his loins. Feeling his friend so close, his hands on his neck, tasting him, holding him after so many years of yearning, was having an effect on him. 

Embarrassed and slightly flushed, he broke the kiss, leaning his forehead down against Freddie´s bony shoulder, only now realising that his breathing was slightly laboured. 

Two weeks of pulling themselves together, of denying themselves the kind of physical contact they obviously both craved must have had quite the effect on him…and not just on Brian. 

“Can you feel this?”, Freddie asked hoarsely, nudging one of his legs between Brian´s slightly, to subtly press his groin into Brian´s thigh. 

The guitarist let out a shuddering breath when he felt Freddie´s erection pressing up against him. 

“I haven´t been proper hard in bloody months…thought those fucking meds had totally taken it from me…”, his friend added, his breath ghosting over Brian´s neck. Brian shuddered as Freddie pushed up against him again, the singer´s thig creating delicious friction. 

Brian felt hot, dizzy almost with want, heart beating fast in his chest. His hands on Freddie´s slim waist tightened their hold. 

A sort of rhythm unfolded between them, body´s pushing against each other, rubbing against each other, touching, pulling closer, more, tighter, a little faster, thigh against groin, hip to hip, the tightness in the guitarist´s pants growing.

Brian had no doubt that they would have carried on like this, rubbing up against each other, chasing each other´s breath with lips and teeth, on and on, a dizzying urgency to their touches, if it weren´t for the sudden voice of reason that told him that this was madness. 

Their friends were in the other room. 

This was a kitchen. 

Freddie had just been on the phone to his husband. 

“Fred…”, he panted, hands on the singer´s hips keeping him in place, gently forcing him to keep still. “Freddie, let´s…let´s be sensible…”

The singer raised his head to look at Brian, blinked at him as if he had just woken him up from a pleasant dream, the harshness of reality slowly coming back to him.

“Okay…”, Freddie replied after a few more seconds of silence, wanting to step back, wanting to withdraw. 

But Brian wouldn´t let him. He had to make his friend understand that it wasn´t a lack of wanting to do this on his behalf…it was a case of knowing that there was a different time and a different place for it. 

“Not here…alright?”, he said firmly, “Not now…”

He gave the Persian a small smile and Freddie nodded slowly, understanding what his friend was trying to tell him.

“A-alright…”, he murmured. 

“Good…”, Brian gave Freddie´s hip a small final squeeze before letting go. 

It was only now that he noticed the tell-tale signs of exertion on the singer again, the blotchy redness of his cheeks, the shortness of breath. 

“Are you okay?”, Brian asked him softly, watching his friend like a hawk.

“Think I just need some water or something…”, Freddie murmured, leaning his back against the kitchen island, clearing his throat and pushing his hands into the pockets of his loose-fitting slags. 

Freddie seemed slightly embarrassed about his previous actions and Brian was determined to make him understand that he had done nothing wrong, that the guitarist was the one who should have felt silly.

“There you go.”, Brian said, after he had taken a glass from the cupboard and filled it up with water from the tab, handing it to his friend.

“Thank you, darling…”, Freddie took slow, measured sips from it, gaze travelling around the room, slowly calming down but still not meeting Brian´s gaze. 

Brian stood next to him, close enough for Freddie´s narrow shoulder to poke into his upper arm. He looked down at Freddie and was surprised to find that the singer was looking up at him. 

“Tonight…”, Brian said softly, slowly and watched the singer raise an eyebrow, amusement, insecurity and a slow sense of understanding creating a funny mix of emotions on his face. 

“Tonight.”, the slowly repeated with a small nod and a shy smile, hiding it behind another sip from his glass. 

“Let´s get back to Rog and Deaky…”, Brian suggested and they went over to the other room, faces still slightly flushed and legs still slightly wobbly, the air between them still heavy with their secrets.

Brian knew that he shouldn´t have had the wine. He also knew that he shouldn´t have watched Freddie drink so much of it. And while his rational mind was telling him that it had been a bad idea, his heart felt like it was floating on a soft, fuzzy cloud. 

He cringed when he thought back to their total lack of ability to hide his frequent visits to Freddie´s house from Roger and John. Deaky had even seen him leave the hotel shortly before seven tonight and had given him nothing but a sweet but knowing smile and his greetings to Freddie. 

Had he been less drunk, he would have felt embarrassed about his friends knowing. 

But right now, it all felt insignificant. What really counted was the singer, snuggled up in his arms on the sofa, full of delicious risotto and wine, happy and content, just like him, watching the sunset from this incredibly cosy spot. 

In the background, a record of Jazz songs from the 50s and 60s was playing, a smooth change from the Marlene Dietrich record they had listened to over dinner. 

Freddie was curled up against his shoulder and practically purring like a cat, while Brian´s hand was buried in the hair on the back of his neck, blunt nails gently scratching and massaging it. 

They had simply crashed on the sofa after being incredibly full from Phoebe´s risotto and slightly tipsy from the wine and naturally had resumed into this position of closeness. 

Brian´s gaze travelled over the landscape in front of the large window. The surface of the lake was as smooth as a mirror, the vibrant orange and red of the sunset lingering between the mountains in the distance as the night slowly drew in. 

“You should draw a picture of this some time…”, Brian murmured to Freddie, who stirred slightly. 

“What, do you mean the lake, the mountains?”, he asked groggily, blinking up at Brian with an amused twinkle in his dark eyes. 

“Yeah…it´s breath-taking, don´t you think?”

Freddie smiled at him softly, brushing a stroppy curl away from Brian´s brow with nimble fingers. 

“Darling, I´ve got millions of silly doodles of the lake and mountains…You can have them, if you want to, there´s way too many of them anyways.”, the Persian murmured. “It´s a bit like with the polaroids of the swans and the drawings of the ducks.”

“I bet they´re not silly doodles, Fred. I bet they´re lovely.”, Brian said, gently taking a hold of Freddie´s hand and placing a delicate kiss to the inside of his wrist, which made the singer blush like a school boy. 

“Hmm….not sure…Not really good at drawing inanimate objects to be honest…”, he murmured, his fingers playing with another one of Brian´s curls. 

The song on the record changed and a smile started to bloom on the Persian´s lips. 

“Oh…I love this song…”, he gasped and was suddenly up from the sofa, stumbling slightly to keep his balance. 

It was Stormy Weather by Etta James, one of the singer´s absolutely favourites.

“Come on Brimi, I want to dance to this with you…”, he urged the guitarist on, and Brian found himself smiling fondly, watching the singer sway gracefully to the music coming from the record player.

For all his frailty and ill health, Freddie had never lost the elegance in the way he carried himself when he moved to the music that he loved. Sometimes, Brian thought that it was the only true reason that Freddie kept on fighting. The Music, the emotions that it carried, the joy that it brought him.

“Fred, you know I don´t dance…”, Brian sighed. It was true. He had never been much of a dancer, mostly because he felt awkward, silly almost, long limbs flailing about, tripping over his feet, his body never quite doing what his mind told it to. 

“Please…”, the Persian pleaded, reaching out to Brian, eyes huge and dark, like an overgrown puppy dog begging for treats. It would have been a firm no for anyone else but Freddie. 

But the singer had a way about him that always got him what he wanted. Brian was weak when it came to saying no to Freddie and he was not proud of it. Still, he wasn´t able to change it…because he liked giving in. Giving in to Freddie.

“Alright…”, he murmured, with an exaggerated sigh, standing in front of the sofa like a shy boy on a school dance, before Freddie came swaying closer and took him by the hand, pulling him in, leaning against him until they slow danced to the melancholic song. 

Brian´s hands were resting on the small of the Persian´s back, Freddie´s head leaned against his shoulder. He could feel Freddie mouthing the words against the collar of his shirt, his breath tickling Brian´s adam´s apple. 

Freddie took back a step without letting go of the guitarist´s hand, smiling up at him with shimmering eyes and a smile that was wobbly with happiness. 

Brian lifted both of their hands and slowly twirled the other man around, which made Freddie giggle. He sounded young and free of any worry or care. Brian´s heart was fluttering in his chest as he pulled the other man closer again, burying his nose in the crook of Freddie´s neck to breathe him in. 

Rose petal soap, shampoo, cologne and something a bit sharper, spicier. The scents were clouding Brian´s senses, his hold on the singer´s waist tightened and he could feel Freddie´s breath hitching. 

They kept on swaying to the music, but they stayed closer than before. When he raised his head, his gaze lingered on Freddie´s lips only to then flicker upwards towards his eyes to ask for permission to kiss the other man. 

Freddie gave him the tiniest of nods and the guitarist went for it.

The singer´s eyes fluttered shut when Brian pressed his lips against Freddie´s warm, slack mouth. The Persian sighed, rising up to the tip of his toes to meet Brian´s lips properly, his hands framing the guitarist´s face. 

Brian held on tightly to the Persian´s slim waist. At first, it was as sweet as their first kiss out in the garden had been, a clumsy draw of lips, shy and gentle. But mere moments seemed enough to relight the fire that had been born from the flame they had felt a few hours ago, hidden away in the studio´s kitchen. 

When Brian´s tongue asked for entrance, Freddie permitted it. His mouth tasted of peppermint tea and spices, the slight stubble on his chin rubbed up against Brian´s skin, a pleasantly rough sensation that made the guitarist groan softly. 

Heat started to creep up Brian´s neck, his pulse hammered in his ears and all he knew was that he wanted Freddie closer, needed to feel him, more of him. 

He sucked on the singer´s bottom lip, which made Freddie shiver, until Brian´s kisses trailed down his check and onto his neck, nimble fingers pushing away the collar of Freddie´s shirt with the slightly rough pads of his fingers, aching to feel more of his skin. 

“Brian…”, the weak groan of his name seemed divine to Brian´s ears, like a prayer almost. He shivered and continued to kiss along the singer´s neck, nuzzling at his adam´s apple, playfully nipping a mole. 

“Bri…”, Freddie murmured again, the pads of his fingertips digging into Brian´s shoulders, rousing him from his stupor. When he raised his head and his gaze met the eyes of the Persian, he could sense an air of discomfort in his demeanour. 

“I´m sorry…”,Freddie whispered, a sudden sense of defeated sadness lingering in his tone of voice. “I-I can´t…I…”

Brian felt the sting of shameful regret. Had he gone too far? Had he done something to make his friend uncomfortable? Had he misinterpreted his intentions?

He felt horrible for even kissing Freddie. The singer had asked him for nothing but an innocent dance to his favourite song and he had pushed his desires onto the other man, insensibly going for what he had been wanting for so long. 

But that didn´t make it right. 

“No…Fred…I´m sorry…I´m so sorry, I shouldn´t have…”, he stammered, scolding himself for his inability to say the words that he knew the other man needed to hear, words that could safe their friendship, could safe them. 

Brian felt like a stammering mess and a deep sense of shame settled onto him. 

“Darling, no…you don´t have to be sorry, you didn´t do anything wrong, it´s just…”

Freddie seemed to struggle to make sense of his own thoughts, nervously licking his lips, the pads of his thumbs stroking over Brian´s upper arms in a repetitive motion, as if he was trying to ground himself, to work up the courage to keep on talking. 

“It´s just that I don´t think you´d like it…”, he whispered and when his eyes met Brian´s again, there was a shattering expression of sadness on his features. “I look disgusting…without my clothes on.”, he added. 

Brian quickly shook his head. Freddie´s level of confidence had suffered greatly in the past year and a half, ever since the physical signs of his illness had become more and more evident. 

But to Brian, nothing had changed. Freddie was still as beautiful to him as he had been twenty years ago. There was still the same mischievous twinkle in his stunning dark eyes, still the same sweetness to his smile, still the same kindness in his touch. 

To him, Freddie would always be beautiful, simply because he was his friend, simply because he existed in this cruel, dark world, Brian´s light, Brian´s rock, keeping him grounded.

“Fred, sweetheart, don´t say things like that, they´re not true…”, the guitarist uttered, his voice sounding strained, thick with the emotions he tried to hold back. How it hurt him that his most beloved friend thought so lowly of himself. 

Freddie gave a soft little sigh, head slightly leaning to the side. Brian could tell when the shift happened, when the singer put up his walls again, hiding away in his shell, putting on a performance for the world around him. 

His smile should have been playful, seductive even. Brian had seen him smile at other men like this, in bars and in clubs. It was the smile he used on stage to draw in thousands, charming them with his wit and his air of provocative confidence. 

But it was made to mask his real emotions. 

“Why don´t you sit down on the sofa…get comfortable…and I´ll make it up to you, hmm?”, the singer purred, a seductive smile trying to mask the fact that mere seconds ago, he had been too insecure to allow Brian to see him without clothes. 

“I´ll give you a nice blowjob…make it last…I´m really good at this, you know…Really fucking good…”, he continued to whisper, hands on Brian´s shoulders, already steering him into the direction of the sofa. 

“Freddie…that´s not…I don´t think that´s…”, Brian stammered, feverishly searching for the right words to tell his friend that he didn´t think a quick blowjob would be a substitute for the slow and gentle lovemaking that he had had in mind for tonight, as well as letting him know that it was absolutely okay for them to wait, to possibly never do this if only he knew that Freddie was comfortable. 

Brian knew that this was one of those ideas that Freddie got stuck in his head, one of those ideas that had made him go home with strangers in clubs when it was late at night, one of those ideas that came from the part of his brain that told him that his worth was determined by his ability to perform sexual acts, to give pleasure, to please. 

“But I want to, Brimi…Come on, don´t be so noble all the time, let me do this for you, yeah? I promise you, you won´t regret it.”, Freddie continued, determination in his eyes shimmering through the playful ease, “It´ll be the best head you´ve ever gotten, really you can…you can fuck my mouth if you want to, I don´t mind, really I´ve practically got no gag reflex at all…”

The profanities that spilled from Freddie´s lips almost sounded shocking to Brian, the sheer filthiness of the words in which the singer offered himself to him. 

Brian hated hearing him speak like this. 

“Fred…no, listen…”, he said, determined to stop the other man, taking the singer´s hands in his, squeezing them slightly to ground the other man. But Freddie would hear none of it.

A desperate expression started to show on his face, his eyes full of shame, full of pain, tears welling up in them.

“Please…please Brian…I want to do this for you…why won´t you let do this for you? Why d-….why don´t y-you…”, a sudden flash of stubborn anger appeared on his features, his face twisted by it, “Am I really that hideous? Am I not even good enough for a god damn blowjob? Tell me…You wouldn´t have to look down at me, just close your eyes and…”, he blabbered and Brian had heard enough. 

“Freddie, I want you to listen to me!”, Brian´s voice had a firm tone to it, an unmistakable sense of authority that made the singer stop in his tracks. 

“I didn´t come here because I wanted to sleep with you.”, he stated and an expression of conflicted cluelessness appeared on his friend´s features. There was hurt, confusion, a bit of hope.  
Brian quickly tried to make himself understood. 

“I do want to…but not like this. I want you to be ready, I want you to be comfortable…with me…and with yourself…”

Freddie shook his head with a small sad smile that didn´t reach his tired eyes. 

“I´m never comfortable with myself…not anymore…”, he said quietly and Brian´s hands reached up to his face, framing it with his palms. 

“Then I´ll remind you how to love yourself. I´ll remind you how beautiful you are, how amazing and wonderful.”, he said urgently. 

For a second, he feared that Freddie would shut him out again. But the singer just looked up at him, big brown eyes vulnerably soft, teeth peeking out from under his upper lip, his brows without a frown.

“But I don´t want you to feel like the only thing you have left to offer is a blowjob…”, Brian added and it was then that Freddie lowered his gaze, eyes full of shame.

“What else do I have to offer then, Brian? That´s what I´m good at…that´s what I was always good at…Prancing around, shaking my arse, blowing a cock, being someone´s little plaything.”, he muttered, almost hiding his face in the palm of Brian´s hand. 

The guitarist had seen Freddie come to terms with his sexuality over the years, had seen grow more and more comfortable with who he was and what he wanted and needed to be happy in life. But in those years, he had seen Freddie go through a lot of pain as well, a lot of heartbreak, a few major breakdowns. 

Freddie had been with men who had hurt him, had allowed them to let out their own frustrations and struggles on him, to be cruel and to greedily take while giving nothing in return.  
Freddie had thought that he had deserved those things and it broke Brian´s heart.

Brian he knew that those years had had an effect on his friend, even though Freddie had never stopped believing in true love, had never given up on searching for the right guy until he had found him in the form of an Irish barber named Jim Hutton. 

Freddie had never talked about his past, his childhood, those years he had spent at boarding school in India, only that he had tried to find a way to survive this hell, had tried to fit in, to not get into trouble and failed miserably. Brian had a looming suspicion that his friend´s feelings of worthlessness and internalised struggles with his sexuality and identity had started back then.

“That´s not what you are to me, Fred.”, Brian replied softly, his thumbs gently stroking the Persian´s cheeks. 

When Freddie looked up at him, there was something bashful in his eyes, as if he was sorry for the harshness of his words. 

“I know…I know, Brian…Sometimes…dying makes me cruel. All this pain…”, he whispered, exhaustion making him lean into Brian´s touch a little more.

“You´re in pain?”, the guitarist asked, unable to keep the shook out of his voice. 

Freddie seemed to contemplate on what to say next, but then he gave a tired little sigh and a soft nod, “Yes…”

Brian took in a shuddering breath, his worried gaze fixed on his friend´s pale features. 

“Freddie, I didn´t know…I thought your medication…”, he said but the singer just shook his head. 

“It makes it bearable, yes…on the good days.”, he murmured and Brian felt his heart aching. 

How many times had Freddie been in pain when they had worked in the studio for hours and not told them? How many times had he hidden it from them to keep them from getting upset or worried?

Brian not only felt like a fool, but also like a horrible friend. Shouldn´t he have sensed Freddie´s discomfort on him, knowing him for nearly two decades now, going through hell and back with him rising to fame, basically living in each other´s pockets?

How ignorant he was, how self-absorbed and stupid!

“Are you in pain right now?”, he asked quietly and could only pray for the Persian to trust him enough to give him an honest answer. 

“Yes…”, Freddie replied quietly, “B-but it´s not…a physical kind of pain…it´s here…”, the singer raised his fingers up to his temple, where they lightly grazed the skin there, “And here…”, this time, he took one of Brian´s hands and placed them on his chest, right where his heart was located. 

It was a beautifully fitting and simple explanation for the emotional turmoil and pain Brian himself was feeling right now. 

“Is there anything I can do?”, he asked softly. 

“Can you stay the night? Can you…just hold me? I hate being alone in this damn house…”, Freddie whispered and Brian gave him a warm smile and a gentle nod. 

It had been a long, long time since Freddie had allowed himself to appear so vulnerable to Brian, to ask so clearly and unashamedly for the things he needed. 

“Of course, Freddie…”, Brian replied and the singer took him by the hand. 

They turned off all the lights in the living room, treading carefully on the plush cream carpets of the quiet house. When they walked past the kitchen, they saw Phoebe standing by the sink, washing up some dishes.

For a second, his gaze flickered towards Freddie´s hand tightly clutching Brian´s, but he made no comment on it, ever the loyal friend and assistant.

How silly they must have looked to him, Brian thought. Holding hands like children while on their way to the singer´s bedroom. Still, he took comfort in the thought that in his time as Freddie´s assistant, Peter Freestone had probably seen much stranger things. 

“Good night, Phoebe!”, Freddie said with a tired smile. 

“Night, Fred! Good night, Brian!”, the other man replied, giving them one of his genuine, sweet smiles and a little wave with the tea towel he was holding. 

What a strange life he must be living, Brian thought to himself while they walked towards the bedroom. Always there but at them same time being invisible. Did Phoebe know about them and if so, did he judge Brian for his foolishness? Had Freddie told him? 

Freddie´s bedroom at the Duck House was a plain and unpretentious affair compared to his rooms at Garden Lodge. The colours seemed muted, the tones earthy and quiet. Freddie turned on one the bedside lamps. 

Then he stood in front of Brian, looking small and nervous, nothing like the larger than life artist he had once been on the stages of the world. 

“I can´t take off my clothes in front of you…”, the Persian stated plainly.

“You could just take off your trousers…it´s more comfortable.”, Brian suggested, aching to rid the singer of his nervousness and insecurity, “I´ll do the same.”

Freddie nodded and sat down on the bed. There was something oddly comforting and domestic about it, sitting down next to him to take off his jeans, eyes fixed on his hands as they pulled down the rough material. 

They shared another quick glance, Freddie being all fearful brown eyes and pale, naked legs on the softly rose-coloured bedsheets. He seemed dishevelled and scared and god, he was so skinny. 

Brian struggled to keep his eyes from wandering, from looking at the melanoma that covered the singer´s painfully thin legs, from lingering on the white wound dressing that he could see peeking out from under one of the singer´s socks. 

Brian tore his gaze away and climbed under the covers, watched Freddie turn off the lights, getting into bed as well. For a second, they were simply lying there, listening to each other´s breathing in the dark, until they both seemed to wake from the stupor and Brian inched closer while Freddie did the same. 

They met in the middle of the large bed, carefully allowing themselves to come closer, until their bodies were touching, until Brian´s arms were around the Persian and Freddie´s head was resting on Brian´s shoulder. 

Brian remembered their first ever tour, small English towns, pubs, townhalls, student clubs, being hungry and cold at night, crammed together in one room or the back of a car, bony knees digging into his back, quiet whispering in the dark. In the morning, they had often woken up like his, Freddie snuggled up to him like a kitten searching for warmth and shelter, which Brian had provided all too willingly. 

Sometimes, he had felt guilty. Because these things never happened to Roger and John, because they never woke up holding each other like lovers. And even then, he had known that there was more to it than just the cold of the night and the need for a warm body to cuddle up to. 

Being able to hold the singer like this, without anyone interrupting, was heaven. Holding him like this felt right, even though he knew that it shouldn´t. 

“Brian…do you think one can love two people at the same time?”, Freddie asked quietly, breath warm on the exposed skin of Brian´s neck. 

Brian was looking up at the ceiling, feeling one of the Persian´s hands gently stroking up his neck, his nimble fingers caressing Brian´s cheek, fingertips rubbing up against one of his sideburns, playing with a lose curl. 

“Yes…”, he replied, the dark of the night allowing him to be more honest and to speak the truth. “It´s a different kind of love…not lesser…not smaller…but different…”

Brian didn´t really know where the words had come from. Maybe they had built up in his heart, maybe they had just come to him in the moment. 

Freddie seemed to agree, because he nodded softly and then snuggled up closer to Brian, the skin of his naked legs slightly cool against Brian´s. 

“Usually takes me hours to fall asleep…”, he murmured, speech already slightly slurred with tiredness. “Hope I don´t keep you awake…”

“It´s okay, sweetheart…I´ll be fine…”, Brian replied and pressed a small kiss to the singer´s hairline, which made him hum softly. 

“G´night, darling.”, Freddie whispered softly, breathing already slowing down. 

“Good night, Freddie.”, the guitarist said, gently running his hand up and down the other man´s back. “Sleep tight…I´ll be right here.”

“Love you, Brimi…”, Freddie slurred and the clumsy kiss he gave him landed on his neck rather than his cheek, which made Brian smile fondly. 

“I love you too, Fred.”, Brian whispered but he was quite certain that Freddie couldn´t hear him anymore. The singer was already sleeping soundly.


	5. These Are The Days Of Our Lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings,  
> once again I am not exactly on track with my upload schedule but what´s new ?  
> Had to split this one into two parts because I want what´s coming for the next chapter to be extra special. Who else plans a story and then keeps adding and adding and adding chapters because the plot just gets out of hand?  
> Anyways, he´s chapter five!  
> Enjoy!

“So…Fred…what do you think, mate?”, Roger asked, voice still sounding slightly breathless from singing, hands resting on the bongo drums he had just played. His blue eyes were fixed on Freddie´s face, the tips of his fingers nervously drumming against the smooth surface of the drum, causing a small, pattering noise that almost sounded like raindrops. 

Roger had just presented them with a song he had finished just a few hours ago and had been working on for days, completing it at the last possible moment for it to make it onto the album. That was, if Freddie would agree to it. 

The drummer had shown the unfinished version of it to Brian and John the day before but Freddie had not been at the studio with them. 

For about a week, the singer had been feeling poorly now and even though Freddie had been determined to keep on working, despite barely being able to stand up for more than ten minutes, the exertion of the last days had taken a toll on him. 

He had developed a horrible cough that shook his entire bony frame and left him wheezing for breath after each merciless attack. 

“I don´t know…”, the singer said quietly, brows furrowed, chewing at his bottom lip, gaze drifting off into the distance.

“You don´t like it?”, Roger asked, gaze still glued to Freddie´s features, trying to make sense of his unreadable expression.

“I do…I do like it…it´s just…”, Freddie replied, eyes focusing back on Roger, blinking rapidly a few times, as if he had trouble with his vision. 

Brian was tempted to offer one of the chairs to him, but he knew that his suggestion would not be welcome with the singer. Freddie hated it when people asked him if he wanted to sit down as soon as he stood up, hated it when people made a fuss about him in a way that made him feel like his illness was at the centre of attention.

“Those are the days of our lives…”, the singer repeated the lyrics of the song, “I don´t know, are they? Are they really?”

There was bitterness in his voice, a rough edge to the way he repeated the words, an air of disagreement. 

“It´s mostly about the past, you know. The beginning…of Queen. When we were young and struggling to make ends meet…”, Roger explained, “But now that we´re looking back on it we were so happy and carefree…because we…”

“Because we didn´t know what was going to happen…because I was healthy…”, Freddie interrupted him, pain oozing off every syllable, his hands shaking slightly. 

“Fred no, that´s not what Rog was trying to say.”, Deaky tried to help, placing a gentle on the singer´s slim arm, but Freddie turned away to let out a sharp, painful cough and then another one.  
“Course he wasn´t…”, he murmured, after taking a few deep, steadying breaths, his voice sounding rough. 

The singer shook his head, quietly thinking for a few more seconds. 

“Sometimes it seems like lately, I just don't know…The rest of my life's been, just a show…”, Freddie recalled the lyrics, slowly emphasising the words to let their meaning sink in. 

A sudden anger was making his dark eyes shimmer, when they focused back on Roger. He seemed shiver with frustration.

“Is this how you see me? Is this what you think about my life?...J-just a show?”, his voice broke at the end of the sentence, and the next works came out in a hoarse whisper, “A fucking performance?”

“Freddie, that´s not what I was trying to say with this. It´s just about our life in the show business, about all the shows we played over the years, everything we´ve gone through together.”

“Oh, is it really though? Because in the line before that there´s…No use in sitting and thinkin' on what you did. When you can lay back and enjoy it through your kids.”

Freddie raised his brows, almost looking offended now. “Thinking on what you did?! Something I did?! What´s that supposed to mean?!” 

Roger sighed, shaking his head. He seemed as confused with the singer´s sudden outburst of displeasure with the new song as John and Brian were. 

“Fred, since when do you analyse the stuff I write like this? We never used to do that, that´s just…that´s not what we do.”, Roger tried to calm the singer down, but Freddie seemed to have worked himself into one of his moods that he was hard to get out of again. 

Maybe it was the fact that he was feeling poorly, the cough making it hard for him to sleep, to even focus on anything. But Brian sensed that there was something deeper, something more profound that had upset the singer a great deal. And then, maybe it was the song, the memories it brought back. Freddie had never been bitter, but even he was only human, even if he often seemed so much larger than life.

“Yeah, but it´s me who has to sing this, so I´d like to know what I´m in for. Because the press…they´re going to hear this…and they´re going to go Oh well, this is obviously about him being a fucking pufda and regretting the disgraceful decisions he made in his pitiful life because look where they´ve got him…”, Freddie hissed at the drummer and Roger got up from his spot behind the drums. 

“Fred, don´t be daft, that´s not what…”, the Blonde tried to explain, but Freddie was too busy recounting the lyrics of the song.

“You can't turn back the clock, you can't turn back the tide. Ain't that a shame?”, the singer murmured, savouring the sound of the words, until his harsh gaze focused back on the drummer, “A shame, really…”,he whispered, hissed almost, the air vibrating with tension. 

Roger opened his mouth to say something, but then Freddie broke out into another fit of violent coughing, deep and painfully harsh, rattling his whole body. 

“Let´s go over this again tomorrow, you´re in no fit state to work today.”, Roger said, an air of worry rising above the previous snappiness in his voice.

“Oh really? I didn´t know it was you who got to decide about these things now?!”, Freddie croaked at him, his voice so hoarse that it was barely audible anymore, before he broke into another coughing fit. 

“Fred, stop it, please. You need some rest. We could use it too. We´re almost finished with the album, but those last few days of work have always been exhausting. Let´s call it a day…”, John tried to talk some sense into their friend, but it was no use. 

“No…No fuck I don´t…I can´t afford to, Deaky…”, Freddie stammered, now almost seaming frantic. 

“Fred, one day of rest won´t…”, John started but Freddie stopped with a harsh wave of his hand. 

“Don´t! Don´t say it won´t matter, John! Because it fucking does!”, he snapped at him, which had Roger furiously furrowing his brows. 

“Don´t be fucking rude, Fred. Deaky only means well.”, he piped up. 

“Oh, so now you´re the fucking politeness police as well, yeah Rog?”, Freddie rasped.

Roger rolled his eyes at him an gave a frustrated sigh, hands raised. 

“That´s not even a word, Freddie! Politeness police?!”

“It is a bloody word if I damn well want it to be a bloody stupid word, Roger!”, Freddie downright screamed at him and then started coughing again, heaving for breath after each violent rattle inside of his chest. 

Within a second, Brian was next to him, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back, supporting his weight, because he felt like the singer´s knees might give in. 

“Fred…shhh, deep breaths…”, he said quietly into the singer´s ear and could feel the eyes of Roger and John on him, questioning gazes clinging to them.

“Listen mate, I don´t know what´s going with you…”, Roger murmured with a sigh, alluding to the foul mood the singer had been in since they had started working just this morning. 

“Oh, what´s going on…?!”,Freddie croaked, voice raspy and weak, “…What is going on with me, Roger dearest, is that your song is a fucking insensitive, lovey-dovey sentimental piece of wishy-washy bla bla about the good old times and the lovely feeling of getting older while watching your kids grow up which the press will interpret as me saying that…”

The drummer sighed, throwing up his hands in frustration.

“Yeah you´ve already said that bit about them thinking this is about you being gay, regretting that you´ve never married M-…”

“Don´t you dare fucking say her name!”, Freddie hissed, while jerking away from Brian´s touch at the same time, almost as of any kind of interaction with any of them did irritate him immensely. 

“Freddie, don´t be fucking ridiculous, you´re hysteric!”, Roger shouted back at him, with made Freddie snap completely.

“Get out!”, he screamed at Roger. 

“I beg your pardon?!”, the drummer simply stood there in absolute confusion. 

“Get out of this damn studio!”, Freddie repeated, a little louder this time, coughing once again. 

“You can´t throw me out of here! This studio is as much mine as it is yours, Fred!”, Roger argued. 

Freddie raised his chin and with a last pitiful cough, seemed to have had enough of this conversation.

“Alright! Then I´ll go!”, he declared.

“Yes God please, go home and have a rest, that´s what I was saying the whole time!”, Roger sighed, but his compassion seemed to only work the Persian up even more. 

“I do what I damn well please, stop telling me what to do!”, he shouted hoarsely. 

“Freddie, I am trying to help you here!”, Roger said, a sliver of pain audible in his voice, the singer´s stroppiness hurting him. 

“Fuck you, Roger!”, Freddie simply murmured. He turned on the heel of his white adidas trainers and then marched right out of the studio, slamming the door behind him, his angry, loud steps and coughing audible on the stairs. 

John sighed quietly, taking a seat on the sofa and Roger simply shook his head in disbelieve. 

“He hasn´t been like this since back in Munich when he was fucking high all the damn time.” ,he murmured, trying to make sense of their friend´s irrational behaviour. 

For a few more quiet moments, they simply sat there, silent, until Roger seemed unable to take it any longer. “I´m off.”, he murmured, hands brushing softly over the top of the bongo drum, a small melancholic gesture. 

Brian couldn´t blame him for it. The silence inside of the room felt crushing. 

Their drummer had almost been out of the door, when he turned around again, his gaze landing on Brian. His voice bore a concerned kind of warmth when he spoke. 

“Do me a favour, yeah Bri? Give me a knock on the door when you get back from his place tonight, will you? Tell me if he´s alright?”

The words made heat rise up Brian´s neck, his heartbeat suddenly becoming very loud in his ears, mouth turning dry. 

Roger knew. John knew. They both did. 

Were they judging his actions? Were they finding them appalling? Where they thinking of him as a cheater, a homewrecker, a liar?

Brian suddenly became aware of the fact that his silence had stretched on for far too long now. 

“Yeah, okay…”, he said quietly, softly, shoulders pulled up in a kind of defence mechanism. 

“Cheers mate…”, Roger replied and gave him a short, tight lipped smile, before he was out the door. 

“Fuck…”, Brian whispered softly, fingers rubbing over his tired eyes, feeling the bassists gaze heavily on him. There was no use in pretending anymore, in playing it off as just being one of their every-day quarrels of which they had had hundreds over the years. 

“Fuck indeed.”, Deaky murmured in his dry and quiet way. Brian couldn´t bear to look up at him. Instead, he just busied himself with rubbing his eyes and hiding his face in his hands. 

He listened to the sound of the bassist´s steps on the carpet and had been prepared to next hear the sound of the door opening and then closing again, but to his surprise, he felt John´s hand on his upper arm and when he lowered his hands to look at the other man, he found him smiling reassuringly at Brian. 

“See you tomorrow, yeah Bri?”, John said and gave Brian´s arm a soft squeeze. 

“See you tomorrow, Deaky.”, Brian replied, suddenly feeling ashamed of his helpless reaction and very touched by his friend´s compassion. 

“You know…we could hang out for a bit if you like….”, the bassist suggested. “I know you guys think I´m always on the phone to Ronnie and the kids, but there are some precious moments when I´m actually free, you know?”, he gave one of his soft little chuckles and Brian couldn´t help but smile as well. 

“Thank you, John….I mean it, really…”, Brian managed to stammer. 

“Course, Bri. That´s what friends are for.”

When Brian rang the Duck House for the third time at about 8 in the evening, no one picked up the phone. Brian felt sick at the thought of what might be the reason for it. 

Him and John had decided to go for an early lunch after the incident at the studio, the bassist suggesting it and for a few precious hours, Brian had managed to turn off his busy mind just a little. 

Him and John had had the change to engage in what Roger called “boring dad talk”, simply using their time together to gush about their kids, while eating crepes at one of the cafes in town. 

“Just come over if you need me, Bri. I mean it.”, Deaky had murmured into the unexpected hug he had given Brian when they had said their goodbyes in the early afternoon in the hotel lobby. 

Brian had refrained from calling Freddie earlier in the evening, because he had felt like the singer might need some space, some time to breathe, some time to simply sit with his emotions. 

Not that Freddie would do such a thing. In the olden days, the singer would have either gone on a lavish shopping spree, buying things he didn´t need to fill up the rooms in his house or get black out drunk or high, listening to dramatic opera music while smashing glasses and bottles against the nearest wall, for Phoebe to silently clean it all up afterwards. 

Brian couldn´t help but worry more and more with each unanswered call, pacing up and down his room. At around 11, it was Phoebe who finally picked up the phone, his voice sounding tired and strained. 

“He´s…not really in a fit state to see anyone. I´m sorry, Brian.”, he said, when Brian asked him if Freddie was alright and if it would be okay for him to come around, just to check up on him. 

“Peter…be honest with me, please! How bad is it? His cough, it was horrible today, he could barely breathe.”, Brian heard himself rambling into the receiver, trying to read between the lines of the other man´s words. 

“It´s not the cough.”, Phoebe said, the volume of his voice lowered. “He´s been on medication for that for a few days it´s actually a good sign that he´s coughing so much, gets out all the nasty stuff out of his lungs, you know.”

“That´s…that´s good!”, Brian replied, “W-what is it then?”, he continued to ask. “Because if it´s about the fight he had with Roger today, I´d like to help. I think…he just needs someone to talk to, someone to set it all into perspective, you know…”, Brian gave a nervous little laugh. 

Somehow, it felt like Phoebe was keeping him from walking through he door he previously had been striding through without thinking too much about it, a sort of gate keeper, a confidant to the singer, much closer to him than any of his friends, even Brian, ever could be. 

“Please Peter…I…I´m worried, just…just half an hour, I won´t stay long…I just…I need to see him, make sure he´s alright, I promised to tell Roger…”, Brian pleaded. 

“He´s okay, Brian.”, Phoebe´s tone sounded flat, showing no sign of compassion for the guitarist´s pleas. Ever the loyal assistant, Brian thought. 

“Why don´t you ask him if he´d like a crepe from one of those fancy bakeries in town? I could pop over and get one for him, you know how he loves the one´s with the jam and the whipped cream and…”

“It´s past 10, Brian. None of them are open anymore.”, Phoebe replied and Brian could tell that he was already occupied with something else, barely listening to him anymore. 

“Yeah but I could…”, Brian blabbered. 

“Brian, listen, okay? He said he doesn´t want to see anyone today.”

There was no harshness or cruelty to the other man´s voice, just the honest, brutal truth and Brian gulped for air like he had just been punched in the guts. 

“Okay…yeah, alright then…”, he murmured. 

“Good night, Brian.”, Phoebe said but his voice sounded faint, like he was already putting down the phone. 

“Good night, Peter.”, Brian replied and then the line went dead. 

For the next three days, Brian didn´t hear anything from Freddie. None of them did. They spent the hours in a kind of limbo, going through the routine of their day, going to the studio and working on some instrumental stuff. Still, none of it felt productive. 

Because over everything they did hung the overbearing fear that something was wrong, that the singer had fallen so fatally ill that Phoebe had thought it best to not tell them about it, to keep them in the dark until it was too late. 

The thought made Brian want to jump out of his skin and claw his way through the walls. He couldn´t sleep, he couldn´t eat. And he knew that the other´s felt the same. All connection seemed to have been cut between the singer and them and it was more than just a harsh blow to their tight working schedule. 

It was like losing a vital organ, like an injury, like a bleeding wound. 

“Are you sure he´s okay, Brian?”, John asked him on day two while they were sat eating lunch in a café by the lake, all of them blind to the beautiful view of the sun reflecting on the calm surface of the water.

Deaky sounded small, scared, like the boy of 19 years he had been such a long time ago, snugly fitting under the protective wing that the singer had provided for him when he had been young and away from home for the first time. Freddie had been his protector, his older brother and he still was. 

“Yes John, that´s what Phoebe told me on the phone.”, he repeated, for the hundredth time, mostly to reassure himself.

“He better be…”, Roger murmured, angrily swallowing down his bite of ham and mustard baguette. “Bloody drama queen, getting so fucking worked up over a stupid song. It´s shit anyway…Fucking hate myself for even suggesting it.”

“Roger, it´s not your fault he´s not feeling well.”, John said quickly, his worried blue eyes fixed on those of the drummer. 

“Was my bloody song that upset him so much though. Sorry Deaks, but it is my fault.”

For the rest of their lunch, they didn´t speak much anymore. 

Brian woke up with a start when he heard the phone on the bedside table next to his bed ringing. Outside the window of his hotel room, the sky was turning pink at the edges. Brian realised that he must have fallen asleep, the TV still blabbering on in French in the background, while he had laid down on his bed to close his eyes for just a few seconds after coming back from the studio. 

He still felt slightly drowsy from his nap, blinking a few times, but then he heard the ringing of the phone again. Quickly, he turned off the TV, scooted over to the edge of the bed and picked up the phone. 

“Brian May speaking, hello?”, he mumbled into the receiver, brain still foggy with sleep. 

“Hello dear, it´s me…Freddie…”, the voice on the other end made Brian jump. Within a second of hearing it, he was wide awake. 

“Freddie! Oh god, Fred! Are you alright, I-I was so…we…we were so worried about you!”, he stammered, words flowing from his mouth like water spilling over the edge of a slowly breaking dam.

To his relief, Freddie almost sounded cheery when he spoke again. 

“Yes of course I´m alright, darling, you know how it is with me and how awfully grumpy I can get, I was just…”, he stopped himself and then continued, suddenly sounding quite guilty, “I´m sorry I got you worried, darling. Maybe I…should have called or…”

“It´s okay now, Freddie. You´re alright, that´s what´s most important. And your voice sounds much better. How´s that cough?”, Brian quickly asked, smiling against the receiver like a maniac. 

God, he really was bloody helpless when it came to the singer.

“It´s almost gone now, I´m chuffed! Ah, you see, reminds me of why I called…”, Freddie paused almost as if he wasn´t quite sure if the question Brian could hear lingering on the edge of his words was welcome, “Would you fancy going on a walk along the shore…together?”

Of course, Brian didn´t say no. 

Of course, Brian agreed to meet up right then and there at one of the spots along the shore that was one of their favourites, with a small bench and a lovely view of the sunset. 

As he hurriedly put on his shoes, it occurred to him that a wiser man, a man who had not been madly in lovely with Freddie for the last twenty or so years, would not have come. 

He knew that he shouldn´t have run to Freddie like a loyal dog. But then, he didn´t care about superficial things like his pride anymore. 

After three days of no contact and constant worrying, he needed to see his friend. 

And so he greeted Freddie with a long, tight hug, hidden behind the long reed that grew beside the way winding along the shore when they finally saw each other.

“M´sorry Brimi…”, Freddie murmured into the crook of his neck, getting up to his tiptoes to meet Brian halfway, hands clinging to the back of the guitarist´s jacket. 

“It´s okay…it´s okay, Fred…”, Brian replied, his voice sounding slightly choked, his eyes blinking rapidly against the tears that were threatening to well up in them. 

They walked for a while, Freddie´s shoulder digging into Brian´s upper arm, their fingers brushing ever so often. 

Their walk was a quiet affair, as was their dinner at the singer´s house. 

As always, Brian watched Freddie push the food around on his plate while a record of French chansons was playing in the background. 

And as always, they sat down on the couch to watch the sun setting over the lake with a glass of wine, that got Brian tipsy way too quickly. Freddie had snuggled up at his side, head tucked under Brian´s chin, the guitarist´s arm around his shoulders.

“I was ghastly the other day, wasn´t I?”, he asked quietly, a deep sadness in his voice. 

“I´m sorry, dear, but yes…you were quite…”, Brian answered, not wanting to lie to his friend but also not wanting to upset him. He knew that Freddie did worry about these things, lying awake at night while his mind was grinding on and on.

“In know, I…”, Freddie stammered. 

“Roger really did mean well, Fred. What you said…it really got to him, you know…”, Brian tried to explain in a soft voice and felt the singer nodding. 

“I know…”, he said once again, sounding slightly choked this time, hiding his face in the crook of Brian´s neck. 

Brian put down this glass of wine and pulled Freddie closer, holding him tightly, pressing a tender kiss onto the crown of the singer´s head. 

“Just tell Rog you´re sorry, he´s already forgiven you, Fred. You know he´s never angry for long.”, Brian whispered, but Freddie shook his head slightly. 

“He should still be angry with me. Just because I´m ill, doesn´t mean I can be a bastard to him…”, he murmured, leaning into Brian´s touch. 

“Is that why you´ve been hiding away from us, Fred?”, Brian asked softly and the singer nodded. 

“I´ve upset you all…Made you worry about me…I feel horrible for it.”, he sniffled. 

“Shhh, it´s okay…don´t you worry so much, sweetheart…It´ll be just fine by tomorrow. Just come back to the studio if you´re feeling up to it tomorrow. We´d be so happy to have you back.”

Brian could feel Freddie giving a small nod, sniffling a few more times, breathing slightly out of tune, almost as if he was struggling to hold back tears. Brian held him through all of it, hands running up and down the singer´s back, rocking him softly, eyes closed and so overwhelmingly happy to have him back. 

Slowly, Freddie raised his head, pulling back a little from their hug to look up at Brian. His eyes seemed a little red and his nose a little snotty. His voice was so small when he spoke, so quiet and shy.  
“Would you…would you mind staying for tonight? N-not in my bed, but…I´d feel better knowing that you´re here. The guest bedroom is all set for you already.”

“Of course, love.”, Brian whispered, a warm smile playing at his lips. Still, his anxious brain couldn´t help but cling to the fact that Freddie did not want him in his bed tonight, hadn´t even kissed him properly. 

They stayed on the couch for a little longer, tangled up in one another, Freddie drifting off into sleep from time to time, cradled in Brian´s arms like a little boy. Brian watched him, felt the soft rise and fall of his chest and knew that he would treasure this moment forever in his heart. 

In the end, it was Phoebe who woke the singer up for his evening dosage of medication and to help him get ready for bed. 

"Good night, Bri…”, Freddie whispered and to Brian´s surprise, he pressed a kiss to the guitarist´s lips, clumsy and sweet, making the guitarist´s heart beat faster. 

Freddie didn´t seem to mind that Phoebe was standing right next to him, like a strict but gentle father, waiting for his unruly son to decide that he was in the mood to listen to him and go to bed. 

“Good night, Fred. Sweet dreams.”, Brian replied against the Persian´s lips and Freddie smiled at him with a twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Thank you, Bri.”, he whispered before he drew back, off to the kitchen where Phoebe made him take all 17 of his pills, just like every night.


	6. Made In Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks,   
> speaking of crazy uploading schedules, here´s chapter six. I just couldn´t wait any longer before posting it. I must say, it took me incredibly long to write this and even longer to edit it. Because I wanted to get the mood just right and because this is a very, very important part of the story. It was quite the rollercoaster writing it, but that´s what I love about the whole process.   
> I hope you enjoy!

The first thing Brian heard when he woke up, was the rain, the steady, calming sound of it hitting the roof of the house. It was a pleasant white noise, the sound Brian had fallen asleep to mere hours ago.

The guitarist couldn´t really say what it was inside the guest bedroom he usually occupied when he stayed over at the Duck House, but something about the small, cosy room and the view out onto the lake one could enjoy even when laying in bed, always put him right to sleep. 

Still, he instantly knew that he hadn´t woken up to the sound of the rain. Brian had heard a different kind of noise. 

He blinked against the darkness, shifting in the soft sheets, listened. There were footsteps, right outside of his door. His senses heightened by the lack of vision, he was able to tell that it was naked feet walking on the floorboards, the step of them soft, careful even.

They came to a slow halt. The silence lingering in between was heavy, thick with anticipation. 

Then, there was a knock on his door, quiet, timid almost. Still, it startled Brian. Maybe it was because it made all of it real, made him realize that he wasn´t dreaming. 

“Yes?”, he said, his voice rough with sleep and saw the doorknob turning, the door opening. 

Brian would have recognized the slim silhouette of the person in the door way anywhere. 

“Freddie?”, he asked quietly into the night. The singer hadn´t turned on the lights in the hallway and the moon outside was hidden behind clouds heavy with rain.

Still, Brian could tell that the singer seemed startled upon hearing his own name, a slight jerk in his movements. 

The guitarist sat up in bed, desperately trying to make out Freddie´s features in the dark, trying to tell if something was wrong, if there was an expression of distress on his friend´s features. But Freddie´s face stayed hidden in the dark. 

“Are you okay? Are you feeling unwell?”, he asked, a slight edge of worry to his voice. Freddie had seemed relaxed and seemed to have been feeling alright when Phoebe had guided him off to bed a few hours ago. 

Still, Brian knew how cruel, how tricky and sly the illness could be. How Freddie could be laughing, singing and walking around one second and a few hours later, in agony, heaving for breath, barely even conscious with pain, his body paying him back for his previous carelessness. 

“No…”, the singer´s voice was so quiet that Brian was barely able to hear it. 

“What is it then, love?”, Brian said, feeling his heartbeat pick up, scenarios flooding his head in which observing Freddie at a closer angle would reveal that the singer was in terrible pain or any other kind of discomfort. 

Instead of answering, Freddie closed the door behind himself and then, quietly, walked up to the bed and to Brian´s great surprise, slipped under the covers with him. 

Turning onto his side, Brian´s held the singer´s gaze, as he inched closer to him, his hands reaching out for Brian, nimble fingers on his shoulders, Brian´s hands timidly reaching for the other man as well. 

They both seemed desperate to be close, after days of denying themselves any kind of contact. 

Dozens of questions started filling the guitarist´s head, when he felt Freddie leaning in closer and closer still, until Brian could feel the other man´s breath on his cheeks. 

The Persian looked tired, as if he hadn´t slept at all since they had said their goodnights. Other than that, he seemed to be alright, no tell-tale signs of pain on his features, his brow relaxed, his lips soft and slack.

Freddie´s fingers reached up to Brian´s cheek, brushing away a frizzy strand of curls. The touch was familiar, yet foreign to Brian. There was an intimacy to it that he had long believed to be lost between them, reminding him of nights spent in their first apartment, struggling to make ends meet, living in each other´s pockets, late nights crammed into one of their beds, knees touching, talking in hushed voices, dreaming of what was to come. 

He saw the bob of Freddie´s adam´s apple when the singer swallowed thickly, gaze glued to Brian´s, burning with urgency. 

“I know it´s not right…”, Freddie whispered, his eyes hauntingly dark in his pale, slim face. “But I can´t afford to keep on waiting any longer.”

A tingling sensation started to manifest at the back of the guitarist´s neck, his heartbeat picking up when the singer leaned in, kissing Brian´s lips, surprised and soft under his, jaw slack with being so unprepared for what was to come. 

Out of instinct, the guitarist´s hold on the other man tightened, finger´s digging into the thick material of Freddie´s bathrobe, lashes fluttering shut.

Their kiss was clumsy with tenderness, sweet, patient, something so precious, so delicate that it almost hurt. There was a hint of melancholy to it, a whisper of sadness, of years spent wondering, hoping and never going for it, always putting it off until later, always praying, hoping to some day work up the courage to just go for it, to finally take the leap. 

One kiss turned into a dozen, each one sweeter, deeper than the one before, the slightly rough, warm drag of the singer´s lips against Brian´s mouth addictively pleasant. 

Brian´s hands started wandering, up to the back of Freddie´s slight neck, thumbing at his soft, fuzzy hairline, into his soft hair, thick and slightly coarse against his fingertips. Then down again, over his shoulder blades, wandering along the curve of his back, feeling sharp bones under the thick material of his night clothes. 

Freddie´s hands fisted into the material of the baggy, old t-shirt the guitarist slept in, a piece of clothing Freddie had lend him, clinging to him, as if he was scared Brian would simply slip away if he didn´t hold onto him. 

Brian pulled him closer and Freddie crawled on top of him, his slight body a shockingly light weight on Brian´s thighs, straddling him.

Brian´s palms pushed under the hem of Freddie´s bathrobe, opening it, dragging it down his shoulders and leaving him in a pair of blue silk button down pyjamas. When his hands started wandering further over the singer´s lean torso, they suddenly came to a halt. 

He could feel the outline of the catheter under the silky material of the other man´s pyjama top. He had never seen or felt it in person, only heard the hushed words in which Jim had explained to them that the intra-venous catheter would allow Freddie to take his medication much more effectively and gave him a lot more freedom to keep on working and travelling.

He could feel the singer shying away from him, almost as if Brian´s touch had drained him of all his previous courage.

“Please…”. Brian whispered. “Please let me touch you, let me feel you, please Freddie…”

The singer just looked at him with huge, dark eyes, fingers clinging onto Brian, seemingly caught up between launching into the next kiss and running away.

It was the essence of the duality of Freddie´s nature, all or nothing, fight or flight. 

But Brian didn´t want Freddie to feel as if he had to fight if he chose to do this.

There was nothing in this world that Brian wanted more right now, than to make the other man feel comfortable, to make him feel secure. 

“Don´t be scared…”, he said quietly, one of his hands gently cupping the Persian´s cheek.

“I´m not.”, Freddie replied with one of his small snappy shrugs, a gesture poorly masking his nervousness and fear. 

Don´t be ridiculous, darling, his eyes seemed to say, a mocking little quirk to his eyebrow although the jittery shiver in the corner of his mouth told Brian that he was barely clutching on to his façade.   
I´ve done this before, they seemed to tell him. I´m good at this, I used to do this all the time. 

“You know…I´m a bit nervous, I must say…”, Brian murmured. The words had flown from his lips without much thought, honest and vulnerable and he was glad to see that they made the singer´s eyes soften. 

Freddie´s presence was nourishing and kind, the singer loved to take care of his friends and the people that he loved. And so it was no different tonight. 

“Don´t be, darling…”, he whispered, smoothing down the guitarist´s wild curls with gentle fingers. “Here…let me take this off…”, he helped Brian out of his t-shirt, tender lips replacing the cotton material with soft kisses. 

Brian allowed himself to lean back and enjoy, his arousal taking a step back, the feeling of Freddie´s presence dizzyingly beautiful and grounding. 

Freddie kissed and caressed his lanky torso with the determined adoration of a lover that he had known for many years. Had they ever only been just friends? Had they been lovers all along? Silent lovers, tender lovers, unseen, but close, a secret glance, a lingering touch, yearning for more, always yearning. 

His touch felt familiar, not because Brian had fantasized about it, but because there was something comfortingly known to it. Their souls had touched like this many a time prior to this moment.

A heated glance on stage when they had been young, a worn down club, the air stuffy, smelling of weed, the crowd in their hands, the high of the show coursing through their veins, the first rough note of Brian´s guitar solo ringing in the air like lightning striking. 

Maybe that had been first time their souls had found each other. 

Maybe it had been the second they had met, a shy boy with beautiful dark eyes and a slightly foreign accent, hiding his smile behind his hand when he greeted Brian, Roger introducing them to each other at some nameless student flat in Kensington. 

Freddie sucked a love bite onto Brian´s neck, a surprisingly teasing action and the guitarist came back to reality. They smiled at each other, Freddie´s cheeks flushed, his hair dishevelled and his eyes gleaming mischievously. 

Brian´s fingers flew to the patch of skin on his neck that Freddie had kissed mere seconds ago, the spot feeling tender to the touch. The thought of bearing his lover´s mark was oddly comforting to him.   
He leaned in to kiss the other man, savouring the magic of the tender moment before their lips met, Freddie´s mouth tasting of toothpaste and alluring warmth. 

What followed came surprisingly natural to them. With shy touches, Brian asked for permission to undress the other man, just like Freddie undressed him, bit by bit. 

Each article of clothing that was removed, seemed to make the singer cling closer to Brian. He was shy, skittish almost, like a cat that had been beaten when it had been a kitten and was now scared of every hand that petted it. 

Long gone were the days when the Persian had paraded around on stage in various stages of undress, allowing thousands to see him without any clothes. 

When they were both bare, Brian could feel the singer shivering with something that could have been anticipation as well as fear. 

Freddie´s pale, naked body on top of his was shockingly fragile, the shadows of the night drawing harsh, cruel hollows under every rib and his prominent hip bones. When Brian looked up at the other man´s face, there was unhidden fear inside the singer´s eyes. 

I´m sorry, his eyes seemed to say. Don´t look too closely, they seemed to beg. 

But Brian wanted to look. He wanted to remember, to cherish, to adore. 

When he pushed up on his elbow, his other hand gently caressing the hollow of the singer´s collarbone, Freddie hissed, as if Brian had burned him with his touch.

The guitarist felt a shiver racing over the other man´s body as his hand travelled down Freddie´s torso, their gazes never leaving each other. 

Freddie´s skin felt slightly dry and very hot against his palm as he kept on exploring, kept on touching and teasing. He had seen his friend shirtless countless times, clothed in nothing but a skimpy pair of shorts, his tight underwear and on a few rare occasions, nothing at all. 

And aside from the fact that Freddie had lost a lot of weight in the past years, his body seemed comfortingly familiar to Brian, his chest still covered in thick, black hair, his thighs still elegantly long and dusted in dark hair as well.

The catheter to the right side of his chest was taped to his skin with medical tape, the slim tubes looking shockingly medical in contrast to his skin, which almost seemed translucent in some places.   
When Brian´s gaze met Freddie´s fearful, dark eyes, his friend seemed anxious, uncomfortable even. 

Slowly, Brian leaned in and then gently, placed a soft, careful kiss a few centimetres above the spot where the catheter disappeared into the singer´s skin. Freddie´s breathing hitched when Brian´s lips touched him, his fingers digging into the guitarist´s naked shoulders. 

When Brian raised his head to look up at the man in his lap, he saw shock in Freddie´s features. 

“Aren´t you repulsed by it?”, he whispered, his voice shaking with emotions he was desperately trying to hold back. 

“No, why would I be, sweetheart?”, Brian asked and then leaned in once again, kissing the spot and feeling the singer shiver in his arms and cling to him even tighter. 

Brian could feel his friend´s hardness rubbing against his belly, while his own erection pressed against the underside of Freddie´s slim thigh. Feeling his friend so close was making it hard for Brian not to hump against Freddie´s body, while pulling him down much closer. 

The feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating and he knew that he wasn´t the only one experiencing it. 

“There´s lube and condoms in my bathrobe.”, the singer murmured against Brian´s temple.

The guitarist leaned back his head to look at the other man, one of his brows quirked up as he smiled at him in the dark, their faces almost close enough for the tips of their noses to touch. 

“So you´ve planned this, didn´t you?”, he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. 

But Freddie didn´t seem to find it funny, not in the slightest. A tender but sad smile bloomed on his lips, his eyes full of melancholic fondness, as he cupped Brian´s face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking his cheeks. 

“Yes I did, Brimi…Could never forgive myself if I gave this shit to you.”, he whispered and Brian understood. 

He gently took one of the singer´s hands in his, pressing a small, tender kiss to the inside of his wrist, a reassuring sign of trust, of love for the other man. 

Their movements were slightly clumsy when Freddie made room for him so Brian could reach for the Persian´s dressing gown on the floor, finding the promised small container of lube and two condoms in one of the pockets. 

Quickly, Brian pushed away the thought that those items had originally not been brought to this house for him, but for another man to use. 

Holding the small container of lube, he suddenly realised that his hands were shaking. 

“How do I do this…?”, he heard himself asking, sounding like a stupid, clueless boy to his own ears. 

“Oh dear, and I thought somebody had already stolen away your v-card…”, Freddie said, a familiar smirk on his lips replacing the previous tight-lipped expression of nervousness. 

“I´ve been with guys…I just…I´ve never gone this far before…”, Brian replied and his words wiped away the singer´s smile, leaving him seemingly quite stunned with the guitarist´s answer.

“You´ve been with men?”, he asked, voice quiet and careful. 

Brian felt himself blushing. It was the first time he had ever told anyone about those encounters he had had with other man over the years. They had been meaningless, fuelled by his yearning for another man, for someone else, never being able to substitute for what he truly craved, who he really wanted. 

There had never been more than a few heated kisses in the dark of a dancefloor in a city far away from home, never more than a quick fumble of hands in the back of a car and shame, so much shame and guilt felt afterwards. 

He had neither told Chrissie nor Annita about it. He had never talked to anyone about those desires, about those experiences, locked them away in his heart like a shameful secret. 

“Yeah…I was curious as to what it would be like.”, he said quietly.

“And how did you like it, Brimi dear?”, Freddie asked softly, timidly. If Brian didn´t known better, he would have thought that his friend was a little scared of the answer to his question, a little jealous even.

“Well enough…”, Brian replied, “Wished it would have been you though…”, he added and softly pressed a kiss to a mole right under Freddie´s chin, “Sometimes I even imagined it to be you…”, he whispered against the skin, making the singer shiver. 

“Please Freddie, let me touch you…”, he whispered and for a second, he feared that Freddie wouldn´t let him.

But then the Persian nodded, slowly, hiding his face in the crook of Brian´s neck when the guitarist´s hand travelled up his thigh, stroking over his hip and reaching down, where in a small nest of dark curls, Brian found of his throbbing erection. 

Freddie´s breathing hitched and he seemed tense. Brian started stroking him, careful, long brushes of his fingers, varying in speed and the firmness of his grip, enjoying the drawn out procedure of finding out what brought his lover the most pleasure, playing with Freddie´s foreskin, rubbing his thumb over the slit. 

But Freddie didn´t seem to be able to relax properly. 

“Careful…don´t touch yourself with that hand…”, he whispered, frantically almost, breathing laboured by the effect that Brian´s touches had on him. 

“I know, it´s okay, Fred, relax…”, Brian said softly and when his touches focused on the head of the singer´s erection, Freddie moaned brokenly, giving in to his pleasure, losing himself in it. 

Brian continued to touch him while holding the other man, enjoying the sounds of the small moans and sighs that the singer made, craddling him close enough to feel his torso rise and fall with each shuddering intake of breath.

“I want you inside of me…”, Freddie finally whispered, a heated kind of desperation to his voice. 

“Yes...okay…I…”, Brian stammered and felt stupid and insensitive again. 

Freddie´s movements were comfortingly kind, when he took the small bottle of lube form Brian´s hand, opened it and spread some of its contains on three of Brian´s fingers. 

With anyone else, Brian would have felt ridiculous for being so utterly clueless. But with Freddie, he only marvelled at the ways the singer gently nudged his fingers at the right places. 

“Careful now…go slowly…”, he whispered and Brian nodded, intently watching the singer´s face when he entered him with one and after a few moments of getting used to it, two and finally three fingers. 

Clumsily, Brian tried to move his fingers inside the tight heat of the other man´s body, exploring, teasing, while Freddie leaned heavily onto his shoulders and panted into his ear. 

Slowly, Freddie´s previous tenseness seemed to vanish under Brian´s touches and when the guitarist curled his finger´s slightly and pushed in a bit deeper, he seemed to have hit the right spot.

“Ah…just like that!”, Freddie sighed, his voice sounding much lighter, much more alive than it had in months. A blush was blooming on his cheeks, his lips were rosy from their previous kisses and god, Brian loved him, loved him so so much. 

Their lips found each other in another heated kiss, eager with the promise of what would soon follow.

It seemed to have been a while since the singer had experienced anything but pain, exhaustion and drowsiness, the physical pleasure overwhelmingly intense to him. 

“I´m ready…”, he panted against Brian´s cheek, almost as if he needed to withdraw himself from the sensation of Brian´s touches, simply because they felt a bit too good. 

Their movements were hasty when the Persian took hold of the condom, opening up the packaging with shaking hands and then rolling it onto Brian´s erection, the touch of his fingers making the guitarist moan softly.

He aligned himself under the other man´s body, hands holding tightly onto Freddie´s bony hips, taking a deep breath to steady himself. 

It was happening. This wasn´t a dream. Still, Brian felt like he was in a trance. 

When Freddie sank down onto his cock with slow, concentrated practice, Brian felt like he would lose his mind with pleasure any second. Tightness and heat engulfed his prick, punching the breath out of his lungs. It felt incredible.

“Ahhh…fuck…”, the singer cursed under his breath, lashes fluttering. “Give me a second…it´s been a while…”, he stammered, shaking on top of Brian, thighs strained from holding himself upright and slowly sinking down those last few centimetres. 

“It´s okay, take your time…”, Brian whispered, hands clinging tightly to Freddie´s slim hips, needing a moment to ground himself as well. It had been years since he had been this vulnerable in his arousal, this open and new to it all with a lover. 

Still, Brian couldn´t help but get lost in the images that the other man´s words conjured up in his brain. 

It´s been a while, he had said and had meant that he hadn´t slept with Jim in how long? 

A month? Two? Half a year? Even longer?

He knew that it was no use thinking about these things, but he couldn´t help it. 

When Freddie made a first, tentative try to move his hips, nothing more than a small wiggle on top of Brian, a broken moan flew from his lips and his head sank down, forehead resting against Brian´s shoulders.

The movement had Brian clinging onto his last snippets of self-control, struggling hard not to push up into the other man´s body to burry himself even deeper inside of him. 

He was breathing hard, his back damp with sweat when Brian´s hands drew soothing circles onto his skin. 

“You alright?”, he asked worriedly, sounding embarrassingly breathless to his own ears. “Are you in pain, Fred? Is it too much, I can…we could…?”, he stammered, but the singer just shook his head.   
To Brian´s surprise, a small smile started to tug at the corner of his mouth. 

“No…it´s just…fuck it feel so good. I´d almost forgotten…”, he mouthed against Brian´s neck. “Your cock…it´s so big…it´s so…”, Brian made sure to keep a safe hold of the singer´s hips, before he drew back slightly only to push back up into him, a controlled yet powerful thrust, that had Freddie shivering and sighing loudly with pleasure. 

“Feels even better than I´d ever imagined it…”, he whispered and Brian felt heat coiling low in the pit of his stomach. 

“You fantasized about what my cock would feel like?”, he asked and heard his lover chuckling breathlessly. 

“You have no idea, Brian dear…”, with those words, he seemed to have gathered enough strength to start moving on top of Brian. 

In his deepest, darkest fantasies, the one that had gotten him off when he had been drunk at 3 am, head ringing with the post-gig adrenalin, he had imagined Freddie just like this. Riding him, hips rolling smoothly like a graceful dancer, hands placed on Brian´s chest, his face flushed with want. 

Freddie looked young and insanely beautiful like his, slowly finding back his way to the movements, to the feeling of his own body, to experiencing anything else but pain and fear.

Sometimes, when he couldn´t hold it back, Brian pushed up into him slightly, meeting the Persian´s movements with an urgent intensity and Freddie´s breathing hitched, a deliciously desperate moan bubbling up from deep within his chest. 

Brian had always know that Freddie liked sex, liked the feeling of pleasure in all forms and he was happy to give it back to him in a way, to make him experience how good it could feel to allow himself to indulge in it once again.

Slowly, they started to speed up, their movements getting faster, harder. Brian let the singer control the pace and intensity of it, sometimes even holding him back, gripping onto his hips to keep him from moving, to share another heated kiss, another deep glance with him. 

Still, the singer seemed determined to go harder, to push his body to the limit. Soon Freddie was breathing so hard, he was wheezing pitifully, sweat drenching the hair on his temples. To Brian, they seemed to lose their connection, while Freddie was caught up in his own head, much too determined to put on the performance of eternal stamina and strength to stay with Brian. 

“Fred…come on…let´s get you on your back…”, he suggested in a gently voice, hands on the singer´s hips squeezing softly. 

“No!”, Freddie moaned, eyes half closed, shaking his head while struggling against Brian´s grip, trying to keep on bouncing up and down his dick, “No…don´t move…don´t you dare…”, he panted.

Brian knew that there was no way of talking the other man out of this, no use in trying to make him understand that he didn´t have to completely exhaust himself to make it good for him. 

Instead, he slung his arms around his lover´s bony frame, hugging him and pulling him down against his body slightly, therefore causing the movements of his hips to slow down. The singer almost seemed stunned. 

“Can I have you here at least?”, Brian asked softly, looking up at the flushed face of the singer, “I want to be able to kiss you…look into your eyes…”

Freddie blinked at him owlishly, speechless for a few seconds, still heaving for breath and then, nodded slowly. 

“Yes…”, he whispered quietly, almost as if Brian´s request came as a relief. “Okay…”

They found their rhythm again, slower this time, much more gentle. Their gazes stayed locked the entire time, the intensity of their connection building up like lighting about to strike.

It almost felt like during one of Brian´s guitar solos, when Freddie´s eyes stayed on his for minutes on end, when a quirk of his brow and a pout of his lips could send Brian into overload, when it all seemed to be in synch, when they became one once again. 

The guitarist could feel Freddie´s cock rubbing heavily against his stomach, slick and leaking with precum and he couldn´t help but to reach down between their bodies, closing his fingers around his lover´s pulsing prick to start jerking him off in time with their movements. 

“No…stop…”, the Persian groaned, brows knitted tightly. 

“Why do you want me to stop?”, Brian asked, stilling the movements of his hands immediately, feeling the other man´s erection twitch in his lose grip. 

“S´too much…I…I can´t…”, Freddie stammered, unable to properly explain himself, much too dazed with lust to produce a proper sentence. 

“It´s okay…Fred, I´ve got you…”, Brian replied, pressing a gentle kiss to the other man´s lips, his other arm planted securely on his lover´s slim back. 

A small, nervous smile appeared on the other man´s features, lashes fluttering shyly when his gaze shifted downwards. 

“You´re going to make me come in like…two seconds…”, Freddie chuckled, blushing like a school boy and Brian felt his heart clench with intense emotions. God, how he loved this man. 

“Which is what I had in mind.”, he replied with a sweet smile, but the singer only sighed. 

“No, I don´t want to…”, he murmured, once again wanting to hide his face in the crook of Brian´s neck, but the guitarist wouldn´t let him. 

“You don´t want to come?”, he asked, placing a hand on the singer´s cheek to be able to keep looking at him. 

But Freddie kept his gaze lowered, only leaning into Brian´s touch, closing his eyes when the guitarist softly stroked his cheek with his thumb. 

“Fred...Were you planning on holding back the entire time?”, Brian asked softly and then, a little more quietly, “Freddie…?”

The singer scrunched up his nose, doing that little raise of his chin, acting as if Brian´s question had been nothing but a little nuisance, not even worth thinking about.

“I just want this to be good for you, this is not about me, I don´t need to…”, the singer tried to explain.

“Love, please listen…”, Brian tried to get in, but Freddie simply shook his head, his eyes now big and understanding.

“You don´t have to touch me down there, just enjoy, I´m going to make this good for you…”, there it was again, that seemingly confident, slightly seductive smile. Freddie´s hand on Brian´s chest started to stroke up and down.

“Freddie…hear me out, okay?”, Brian finally managed to get in. He made sure to look the other man in the eyes, intently focusing on their gazes staying locked while he spoke the words that had been lingering on his tongue. 

“Since I was 21 I was dreaming of taking you to bed and taking my sweet time with you…If you don´t want me to touch you down there, then I won´t.”, Freddie gave him a wobbly smile and a very vulnerable shake of his head, front teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

Brian took it as a sign that his lover was at least listening to him, that he at least kept him away from getting lost in his own head. 

“But if this is about…holding back because you think you´re not worthy of it or because you don´t feel beautiful enough, than there´s nothing I´d like to do more than to get you on your back and kiss every inch of your body to show you how much I want you…and how much you deserve a fucking mind-blowing orgasm, okay?”, he continued, his hand gently stroking the singer´s blotchy red cheek, his thumb swiping over the sweaty hair on his temple. 

Even though the Persian leaned into his touch, slowly relaxing into it, he still seemed adamant, a shadow of doubt casted over his features, a shimmer of fear in his eyes.

“I know what´s safe and what´s not so I don´t contract it. You don´t have to worry about that.”, Brian said, voice slightly lower, searching his lover´s gaze with his eyes. 

It was true. Brian hadn´t gotten information on the topic of HIV and aids in preparation of sleeping with his best friend, no. But when Freddie had told them about his condition a little more than three years ago, he had made it his goal to be as good as an ally as he could be, getting information on the mysterious virus that still baffled scientists around the globe and that still was not curable, to this day. 

There was little known about it, but there were people who were willing to spread awareness, to rise above the rumours and the stigma and to do charity work, printing leaflets, operating phone hotlines for people to call. 

Over the last years, Brian had collected every bit of information on the topic that he could find. 

“Alright…”, Freddie replied, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you trust me, baby?”, Brian asked him, gently tracing the contour of his cheek bone with his thumb. 

“I trust you, Brimi.”, the singer whispered back and leaned in slightly. 

“Good…that´s good…”, Brian murmured, before he captured his lips in a sweet, slow kiss, pouring every bit of comfort and love into it that he had. 

“Why don´t you get on your back, hmm Fred?”, Brian asked, his lips tenderly brushing up against the Persian´s strong jawline. “I´ll help you…”

Freddie nodded and even allowed Brian to support him, helping him sit up from Brian´s lap, hissing softly, when the guitarist´s slightly softened cock slid out of him, and then sinking onto his back with a small huff of breath and an adorably silly chuckle. 

Brian was over him in less than a second, kissing the other man´s lips sweetly, making Freddie smile lazily, his hands running up and down Brian´s shoulders.

“There we go…that´s much comfier, isn´t it?”, the guitarist asked and Freddie nodded, still smiling.

“Yeah…”

Carefully, Brian´s hand trailed down the singer´s slim leg, giving the inner side of his knee a little tickle, which made Freddie chuckle again, wiggling away from Brian´s touch, until the guitarist´s palm reached his thigh, going further upwards towards his erection. 

“I´ll just touch you very lightly, alright?”, Brian asked, when his finger´s closer around it once again.

Freddie nodded, eyes looking up fearfully into Brian´s, only to flutter shut when the guitarist had spread a bit more lube onto the palm of his hand and started to gently run his fingers up and down the singer´s length. 

“Does that feel good?”, he asked, pressing a small kiss onto the corner of his lover´s mouth. 

“Yeah…so good…”, Freddie sighed, quickly losing himself in the sensation of the touch of the other man´s hand. 

“That´s lovely, baby…”, Brian praised him, continuing his light, careful touches, fingertips grazing the head of the singer´s erection, quickly finding him leaking precum onto his fingertips. 

Brian couldn´t help but wonder how long it exactly had been for the other man. Had he entirely abstained from any kind of intimacy with Jim or had it been similar to this, Freddie insisting on being the one giving pleasure without receiving anything himself, in fear of being a nuisance.

“Bit firmer, please…”, the singer´s words ripped Brian from his thoughts and he noticed how his lover arched into his touch.

“Of course, love…”, Brian sped up the movements of his hand, making his lover groan low in his throat, hips rising up for each upstroke of Brian´s fingers, fucking himself on the guitarist´s fist. 

Brian´s wrist gave a small twist at the head, a move he usually enjoyed very much himself when getting touched or touching himself and Freddie whimpered pitifully, shaking, as if the intensity of the sensation had shocked him.

“That okay?”, Brian asked him, wanting to make sure that the other man was alright, that he wasn´t overstimulating him.

Slowly, Freddie opened his eyes to look up at Brian, his dark gaze burning with desire.

“Yes…”, he sighed, the hoarseness of his voice making the guitarist shiver, “Want you back inside of me, Bri.”

“Yes Fred…”, Brian hissed, his hand temporarily leaving the singer´s erection to grab his bony hip, while guiding himself back into that warm, tight space between the singer´s cheeks with his other hand.   
A low moan escaped his lips, when he was filling his lover to the brim. Even through the condom, it felt incredible, nothing like anything the guitarist had experienced before. 

“Are you okay?”, he asked breathlessly, hands stroking up and down the singer´s thigs in soothing movements. 

“Yeah…”, Freddie replied, although Brian could feel him wiggling slightly, trying to get more comfortable. God, he was so awfully skinny, the bones in his lower back probably digging into the mattress, as well as his slim shoulders. 

“Here…let me…”, Brian reached over to one of the pillows on the top end of the bed, helping the singer to raised his bum a little to wedge it under his lower back. 

“Thank you, my darling.”, Freddie whispered with a sweet smile, when Brian leaned down to kiss him again, his lips quickly trailing down the singer´s neck while slowly fucking into him. 

It was sweet agony, a pleasant kind of torture, panting against his lover´s neck while gently thrusting in and out, letting the other man get accustomed to the new angle. 

When Brian´s tongue teasingly licked over one of the singer´s perky nipples, Freddie shivered with lust while moaning brokenly. “F-fuck…”, he cursed softly. “Please…do that again…”, he whimpered and moaned even louder when Brian closer his lips around the small nub of flesh, sucking on it. 

He gave the other nipple the same kind of treatment of experimental licks and even small bites, but when Freddie´s moans increased in desperation, the singer arching his back with each of Brian´s thrusts, the guitarist started to feel himself struggling to stay in control. 

“Can I go a bit faster, Fred?”, he asked, voice sounding strained and the singer gave him an enthusiastic nod, as if he had desperately waited for his lover to ask. 

Brian put both hands onto the Persian´s hips, careful not to push too hard against the visible bones and started to speed up his thrusts, hips snapping against the singer´s backside with increasing force.

“Yes…fuck…”, Freddie moaned throatily, arching his back, pushing his bum against Brian´s hips, “…just like that…”

“You like that, baby?”, Brian asked, the sound of the slapping of skin on skin only making him want to go faster, harder. 

“God, yes…”, Freddie replied with a small nod and gave a shout that was half surprise, half intense desire, when Brian´s fist closed around his prick once again, jerking him off fast and hard. 

By the sounds that the singer was making, Brian could tell that he was getting close, his face flushed and sweaty, drenched strands of black hair sticking to his forehead. 

In another time, maybe back in 85 when Freddie had been strong and loud-mouthed or even back in 76, when he had been young and full of energy, full of life, Brian would have enjoyed edging him, prolonging their mutual pleasure to the absolute maximum. He knew Freddie would have enjoyed it, the overstimulation, the intensity of it, because those were the things he had been chasing, back in the day. 

But not today. 

How much Brian wished he could have given them to him, but within a measure that was safe, consensual and healthy. Once again, the guitarist scolded himself for his cowardly nature, for his foolish silence that he had kept for all of those years. 

“You gonna come for me?”, he asked the singer, his voice bearing an edge of desperate intensity, the thought of all those wasted opportunities still lingering in his mind. 

Maybe it was then that Brian realised, that there would not be another time, that this night was all they had, all they would get. 

“Yeah…”, Freddie moaned, blinking up at Brian, breathing hard, his hands clinging to the guitarist´s shoulders while Brian thrust into him.

“You´re going to make me come too, Freddie…You feel so good…Damn…you feel so fucking good…”, Brian moaned, already feeling a familiar tightness in his loins.

Freddie was blinking up at him, wide eyed and vulnerable, drinking in Brian´s praise like a man dying of thirst and it broke Brian´s heart to see how desperately his lover craved validation and adoration, any kind of positive emotion associated with his physical form.

“Look at you…so beautiful…so fucking beautiful, baby…I wish you could see yourself like this, my lovely…oh god…oh Freddie…I´m so close…”, he kept on babbling, knowing how good those words would make his lover feel. Still, he meant what he said, genuinely feeling like he could come any minute.

Freddie got surprisingly silent, shivering with each of Brian´s thrusts and then, with a broken cry of pleasure, he came into Brian´s pumping hand, his release splattering onto the guitarist´s belly, as well as his own. 

Brian fucked him through it all and the singer slowly blinked up at him, gaze clouded with lust and satisfaction, cheeks flushed as if he was coming down with a fever.

“Brian…”, Freddie moaned hoarsely, tongue lazy with lust, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and that was what did it for Brian. 

White, hot pleasure was shooting down his spine, making his whole body feel like it was on fire when he came, buried deep inside of his lover with a loud, guttural moan. 

His orgasm seemed to last for ages, each of Freddie´s aftershocks teasing another wave of pleasure from him, until he sank down onto the body under him, completely spent. 

“Fucking hell darling…”, Freddie cursed, speech slightly slurred, legs slung around Brian´s hips, their sweaty skin sticky with semen. “…that was bloody brilliant…”

Brian felt laughter bubbling up in his chest, still catching his breath, his messy curls sticking to his neck and forehead and God, he was happy, yes he was. Happy to be here, happy to share this moment with the man he loved, just happy, content, feeling absolutely free of his previous worries. 

“Yeah…yeah it was, wasn´t it…”

He pushed up on his elbows, looking down at the other man, incredibly glad to see Freddie smiling, one of his lazy, sweet smiles that made his eyes sparkle. 

Carefully, Brian leaned in to kiss him, a slow, gentle drag of lips, smiling into the touch, pleasantly melting into the afterglow of their pleasure.

“I love you…”, Freddie whispered, pulling back slightly, hands stroking messy curls away from Brian´s face. There was a soft glow to his features, content and satisfied, close to what he had looked like after a particularly successful show back in the day. 

Brian loved this look on him. 

“I love you too, Freddie.”, he whispered back, pressing a final kiss to the singer´s lips and then sinking down next to him onto the mattress. With a sigh, he pulled off the condom, grabbing a box of tissues on the nightstand and wrapping it in one of them to bin it later. 

He snuggled back up to Freddie, an arm thrown over the singer´s slim chest, his head resting on his shoulder, but the other man seemed unable to relax properly. 

“Bri…don´t fall asleep just yet…Please…go take a quick shower and wash it off.”, for a second, the guitarist didn´t really know what his lover was talking about, but then he noticed the feeling of Freddie´s sticky release on his stomach and thighs.

“I´d sleep more peacefully, knowing that none of it stays on you…”, the Persian added with a caring smile, the look in his tired eyes slightly worried. Brian scolded himself for not thinking about it himself.

“Of course…be right back.”, he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the singer´s shoulder. Hurriedly, he made his way to the bathroom next door and took a hot, thorough shower, cleansing his skin of the remains of their previous love-making and drying off quickly with one of the freshly washed and very fluffy towels on the rail next to the tub.

When he came back to the bedroom, Freddie had put his bathrobe back on, standing by the floor length window, looking out onto the lake. He had turned on the lamp on the bedside table, the light softly illuminating his features. 

Brian came closer and without hesitation, hugged him from behind, chin resting against the other man´s shoulder. Freddie smiled, giving a pleased little hum, leaning further into the guitarist´s touch.

“You alright, love?”, Brian asked him, never really being able to shake the worry about his friend from his thoughts. 

“Course I am, darling.”, Freddie murmured, turning his head slightly press a kiss to the guitarist´s cheek. He almost seamed recharged, his skin bearing a healthy glow, still slightly flushed and shimmering in its usual soft bronze colour. 

Freddie turned around in his arms, so that he was facing Brian, looking up at him, hands resting on his shoulders, his smile turning slightly melancholic. 

“I wish we´d have done this much sooner…”, he said quietly, no bitterness to his tone but a touch of sadness hovering in it. “Remember what I used to look five years ago…ten years even…how handsome I was?”, he asked and Brian found himself smiling. 

Freddie´s words weren´t spoken out of vanity but the bitter-sweet memory of the years they had spent together, of times past, when he, who had been loved and adored by millions, still had been so insecure of his appearance, so critical of himself. 

“You were…you still are, Fred.”, Brian said softly, hands cupping the singer´s face, watching him blush, still blush at the compliment, like the shy boy he had once been. Freddie lowered his gaze, pulling his upper lips over his front teeth, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. 

It took him a moment to work up the courage to look back up at Brian, to find his gaze again.

“And god, how much I wanted you, Bri…You´re still just as handsome as back then…”, he whispered, thumb sweeping over the contour of the guitarist´s chin. “If not more handsome…”, he added and Brian could feel his face heating up with a flush. 

Many people had called him many things in his life. Of course, handsome had been among those words as well, spoken by journalists, often female, trying to flatter him, written on the pages of magazines, Brian May, thoughtful, quiet, kind and handsome, in his own way. 

Still, those words meant nothing compared to what Freddie had just told him. Any word from the singer´s lips became meaningful to him, became powerful, beautiful. 

Freddie chuckled softly, the sound airy and sweet and Brian felt his heart fluttering with adoration for the other man.

“You´re blushing…Oh, I remember how beautifully you used to blush back in the day…when we were on stage and I would come closer…and closer.”

Brian smiled, a shy tug at his lips, a small laugh falling from his lips at the thought.

“God, sometimes I thought maybe he´s scared of me, the poor innocent boy…”, Freddie added, grinning at him like a cat watching his prey, playfully nudging it with his large paw. 

“I was scared of you.”, Brian said softly, fondly stroking the other man´s cheek with his thumb.

“You were?”, Freddie asked, one of his brows quirked up slightly in amusement. 

“Yeah…because you made me want you…you made me want to do things that I shouldn´t have wanted. You made me feel things…”, he tried to explain, feeling like he was stumbling through the words, “Didn´t make me want you any less though…”, he added, which made the singer chuckle. 

Freddie sank against him and Brian instantly pulled him closer, holding him in a tight, safe embrace, feeling the other man´s warm, soft breath on the naked skin of his neck. 

“Let´s go back to bed…Don´t know about you, but I wouldn´t say no to a few more hours of sleep.”, Brian suggested and Freddie nodded, letting himself be pulled back to bed by the hand. 

Brian turned off the light on the bedside table and the room was once again bathed in pale moonlight and darkness. 

It was easy for them to get comfortable under the sheets, facing each other, libs tangled together, gazes locked, drunk on exhaustion and love.

“You have to promise me something, Brimi…”, Freddie suddenly whispered into the half-light of the early morning.

“Anything, Fred…”, Brian replied, inching closer, taking the singer´s hand in his, giving it a small squeeze.

“When…when I´m…gone…”, Freddie started and Brian closed his eyes in pain. Hearing those words from his friend´s lips broke his heart, time and time again. He could never bear to hear the inevitable, to ever come to terms with it.

“Freddie…please…”, he murmured, but the singer would have none of it. 

“No, listen to me, Brian, please. When I´m gone…I want you to take care of yourself, do you hear me? I know it will be hard…but you need to…keep going, okay? You need to keep living, to keep being happy…to enjoy life…”, his voice broke several times when he spoke and maybe, this was the first time that the singer allowed Brian to see that dying, slowly wasting away and coming to terms with it, was affecting him. 

“H-how?...How can I…can we…go on…when there´s no you, Freddie?”, Brian asked, his voice thick with tears that suddenly burned hotly in the corners of his eyes. 

“You will find a way, Brian, my darling. You must be there for each other. We´re family after all.”, Freddie said softly, his voice filled with tenderness and warmth. Once again, the singer was comforting him, when really, it should have been the other way around. 

Brian could feel a sob bubbling up in his chest, powerful and painful, making it harder and harder to breathe.

“Yes…yes we are…”, he managed to choke out, hand clinging harder to that of the other man.

Freddie´s eyes shimmered with tears, but he was smiling, kindly, softly, contently, when he continued to speak.

“You have so much life ahead of you, Brian. So much…I want you to take it…go out and grab it with both hands…feel it, experience it…cry, if you must…but also…let yourself be happy…Because there is so much in this world to be happy about, my darling.”

Brian closed his eyes against the hot tears that were welling up in his eyes, feeling his face twist with the silent sob that suddenly escaped his lips, agony washing over him, his walls of self-control, of holding it all in, crumbling, when the singer pulled him closer, holding him tightly while he sobbed like a child, his head resting on his lover´s chest. 

“Shhh, it´s okay, my sweet…it´s okay, just cry…let it all out…”, Freddie whispered into his ear “There there…you´re going to be fine…just fine, my darling…”, the singer pressed a small, loving kiss to the crown of his head. 

It took him agonizingly long minutes to calm himself down, sobs wrecking his body time and time again, the tears falling like some kind of flood gate had been opened inside of Brian. And Freddie held him through all of it, whispering sweet words of comfort and adoration into his ears. 

“I´m sorry…s-sorry, Freddie…”, Brian hiccupped, face burning with tears, feeling flushed and embarrassed when he was finally able to talk again. 

“Oh no, none of that nonsense, Brimi. Don´t apologize…it´s okay…”, Freddie replied in a soft whisper. “You needed this.”

Brian gave a pitiful sniffle and snuggled up next to the singer, their arms around each other. Freddie reached over to the tissue dispenser and then, carefully, tenderly, wiped away tears and snot from Brian´s face, kissing the now clean, reddened skin with soft lips. 

“I´m so grateful…to be here…with you…”, Freddie whispered and Brian fought down the fresh tears welling up in his eyes. 

“I love you, Freddie…I love you…”, Brian raised his head to kiss the other man, whispering more and more I-love-yous against his lips, until his voice was so quiet, that they couldn´t hear it any more, still meaning every word he spoke. 

They didn´t sleep much more on this night, simply lying awake in the dark, holding each other, sometimes dozing off a little, enjoying each other´s company. Brian soaked up each second like a sponge and stored it away in his heart, a precious memory, a small treasure to be cherished. 

At shortly after six, there was a quiet knock on the door, tastefully discrete and Freddie untangled himself from Brian and got up, slightly wobbly on his legs. 

“It´s Phoebe, gotta take my meds.”, he explained. Brian caught a flash of Phoebe´s face from the crack in the door through which Freddie slipped out into the hallway.

He was too tired and too overwhelmed with emotions to care what Freddie´s personal assistant thought of him for staying the night, for sleeping with the singer. 

Half an hour later, they had breakfast on the terrace, watching the sun rise, sitting close to each other on a bench and drinking their morning tea. 

Freddie wore one of his matching yellow jogging bottoms and jumpers and although they now were much to baggy for his skinny frame, the sight of them brought a rush of happiness to Brian. 

“Fred, do you really hate Roger´s song so very much?”, Brian asked carefully, watching rays of sunlight touch the singer´s face. 

Freddie smiled shyly, looking down at the mug of tea in his hands. 

“No…I think I was just…I was upset because I thought…I didn´t have time…and that this song would be the manifest of it…of me dying. But…I think I´ve come to understand that that´s not what Rog was trying to say with it. I think it´s more of a…happy memory…going on for eternity. And that´s beautiful.”

He took a sip of tea to hide his bashfulness, but Brian couldn´t help but press a small kiss to his cheek in relief, which made the singer chuckle. 

When they arrive at the studio a few hours later, Freddie went straight up to a tired looking Roger, who had been sipping coffee and staring at the sheet of paper with the lyrics of his song written on it. He was chewing on the end of a pencil, his brow worried. 

“I´d like to make some additions to you song, Rog darling.”, Freddie announced and Roger looked up from his work, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Is that so, Fred?”, he asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

“Yeah…and then I´d like to try and sing it.”, Freddie said, his smile matching that of the drummer. 

Roger chuckled and then pulled one of the chairs over, so they could both sit at one of the tables. He then handed Freddie the pencil. 

“There you go, maestro, show me what you got.”


	7. Epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks,   
> there we go, last chapter of my overly sad and dramatic Maycury story. I really hope I´ve managed to draw it all to a nice close.   
> Let me add: In this house, we love and respect Jim Hutton! Even though the main ship of this story is Maycury, I would never disrespect Jim and his love for Freddie!   
> Enjoy!

In the end, they finished the album much quicker than they had expected. The days went by so fast, finishing touches were added to the songs and then, one Sunday afternoon in November, they were done. 

It felt surreal once the last wailing notes of Brian´s guitar faded into silence and he took off the large headphones he had been wearing. 

From the control room behind the spacious glass window, Roger gave him a thumbs up and a grin and Deacy raised his eyebrows and smirked at him. Brian smiled back at them, seeing the joy of the strenuous achievement shimmer in his friend´s eyes.

“How was that?”, he mouthed.

“Fucking fantastic, mate!”, Roger shouted, loud enough for Brian to hear him through the thick glass.

Brian´s smile turned into a grin that matched Roger´s but then his gaze drifted over to someone else, someone sitting in one of the large spinning chairs next to John. 

Freddie looked small in his blue shirt and his navy tie with the white polka dots, his clothes oddly formal for the occasion of just another day at the studio. But it wasn´t just another day. It was the last day of finishing the album they had worked on so very hard, maybe even their last album as Queen. 

Suddenly, his friend´s choice of clothing seemed touching to Brian. 

Freddie had been quiet for most of their recording session, taking small sips from a mug of tea, hands shaking slightly when he raised the cup to his lips. His friend´s lack of talking was only due to one thing. 

The singer was in a bad state, each of them knew. 

Freddie´s vocals had been done about a week ago, but despite the fact that he could have stayed at home, in bed even, where he belonged, the Persian had insisted on coming to the studio every day. 

His voice was much quieter now when he spoke, it had lost all its previous strength. Each word seemed to exhaust him beyond measure, seemed to be painful, a struggle for breath, a fight with himself and his tiring lungs.

And so, when Brian´s gaze touched Freddie´s, his friend stayed quiet. Still, Brian was rewarded with a warm smile, a smile that reached the singer´s dark eyes, one that lit up his face before it slowly died down and his expression returned to its previous state of slightly dazed numbness. 

Brian saw it as a good sign. Because even though Freddie had been so awfully quiet, he was listening and apparently, he had liked what he had heard. 

“I think we´ve got it!”, Roger said loudly, smiling brightly at them, blue eyes shining with excitement, movements giddy and quick. “Deaky mate, let´s see if we´ve still got a bottle of champagne in the fridge, I want us to celebrate this!”

For a second, they seemed to be back in the olden days, back when they had been young, working on their first two albums, hungry for fame, so full of life and energy, dreaming of making it. 

There was the same kind of youthful joy in Roger´s eyes, the same kind of boyish smirk on John´s lips, as they went out of the room, clapping each others shoulders and joking about, ready to take on the world. 

“We´ll get glasses for you too, guys!”, they head Roger shouting. 

Slowly, Brian put down his Red Special and walked over to the control room, where Freddie still sat in his chair, mug of tea in his hands, unfocused gaze lingering on the open door that led out into the hallway, an expression of mild confusion on his features. 

“Freddie…”, Brian said softly, walking up to him. 

He could see the dazed expression on the other man´s features, the way his eyes slowly found him, blinking up at him, lips parting to speak words that never came. Maybe the singer didn´t have the strength to speak anymore, maybe he didn´t know what to say. 

He seemed confused, unable to process what had just happened. 

Was he in pain?

Or was it the painkillers, the medication he had taken this morning, to get him through the day?

Brian crouched down in front of the singer, now eye to eye with him and gently placed his hands on the other man´s bony knees. 

It took a few painful seconds for the Persian´s eyes to find his, for the singer to resurface from his daze. Freddie smiled sweetly when his eyes focused on Brian, his face lighting up with an expression of recognition. 

“We´ve got it, Fred.”, the guitarist said quietly, holding the singer´s gaze, smiling warmly at him. “We´re finished. It´s done! We just completed the last track for the album.”

“That´s so great…”, Freddie murmured slowly, raising the corners of his mouth into a dazed, almost sleepy smile. The fact that Freddie didn´t really seem to grasp what they had achieved was breaking Brian´s heart, the singer´s sharp mind dulled by exhaustion and his medication. 

Gently, Brian took the mug of tea from the Persian´s hands, placing it on the edge of the mixing board to take Freddie´s hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. 

“We´ve worked so hard…you did, Fred…I´m so proud of you.”, he said slowly, making sure that Freddie took in each word.

“Thank you, Brimi. Thank you…”, Freddie replied, his voice so soft, so warm, that Brian felt his heart clench. The singer had become sweet and kind in those last weeks, all previous snappiness, harshness and restlessness fading away into a strange sense of peaceful quietness. 

Still, he kept on fighting, kept on working. A change in his medication had caused him to be seem dazed, made it much harder for him to focus on his work. Often times, he seemed to slip away, his mind escaping the stuffy studio, hiding away into the depths of memories and dreams, in a place very hard to reach for all of them. 

A few times, they had contemplated on stopping the recording process altogether, altering the songs, changing them to finish their work sooner. But then Freddie had piped up with a sudden clearness of mind, insisting on them working until they were finished with it. 

“I´ll keep working until I fucking drop!”, he had said, with a small, determined smile, eyes shimmering with a will to keep going, to finishing their work, come what may. 

And they had respected his decision, had altered their days in a way that made it possible for the singer to be as involved with the recording process as possible without exhausting himself. 

They made small excused to take breaks that none of them needed, but that they knew Freddie yearned for but was to proud to ask for. They made sure that he ate, made tea for him and took it slowly, when they felt like he was getting tired. 

Caring for Freddie had become their group project and they all played their part in it. 

Brian had stayed with Freddie for almost every night for the last three weeks, taking residence in one of the guest bedrooms at the Duck House, his hotel room now permanently unoccupied. 

It had taken the singer a while to allow Brian to see the full picture, the reality of his life. At first, it had been a fight, a struggle, Freddie sending Brian away when he was feeling poorly, hiding it from him, putting on a façade, Phoebe shielding him from Brian like a wall. 

And Brian had known that it was no use to demand, to keep on pushing, to force what Freddie didn´t want him to see.

As the days had passed, his friend simply seemed to grow tired of pretending to be okay. 

Finally, the singer had allowed him to see everything he had been hiding from him, shielding them from, for the past months, maybe even years. 

Brian had been by Freddie´s side when the singer had awoken in the mornings, dizzy, shivering and nauseous. He had been with him when the pain in his legs, especially his foot, had been unbearable, when sleep wouldn´t come because the side effects of the medication he took made it feel like a thousand ants were crawling under his skin. 

He had wiped sweat and tears from Freddie´s face, had helped him change clothes drenched in sweat and stained with vomit, had carried him to bed, had held him for nights on end.   
He had seen the crying, the weeping, the vomiting, the moaning in pain, the sheer horror of it. 

“Why are you still here?”, Freddie had whispered one night, lying next to Brian in the dark, shivering and shaking with a fever that had suddenly taken a hold of him mere hours ago, “I´ve got nothing left to give…I´m just a walking corpse.”

“Because I love you, Freddie.”, Brian had whispered back to him. “Because you´re my everything.”

Hiding his face from Brian, the singer had snuggled up against him, forehead pressed against Brian´s shoulder, his skin clammy with sweat. The guitarist had laid a soothing hand onto the back of his neck, gently rubbing his thumb up and down the Persian´s hairline, a grounding, loving touch. 

“I´m so fucking lucky to have you…”, Freddie had suddenly whispered and had slowly looked back up at Brian, blinking hastily against the tears shimmering in the corners of his eyes.   
Brian had pressed a tender kiss to the other man´s forehead. 

“Shhh, it´s okay, baby…”, he had whispered against Freddie´s skin and the singer had leaned in slightly, to capture Brian´s lips in a clumsy, but very sweet kiss. 

It had been one of the few kisses they had shared over the past weeks, Freddie simply being too sick, too tired and too scared to venture into anything further than a sweet peck on the lips. But Brian would have never complained about it. Each second with the singer was precious to him, however they spent it. 

“I love it when you call me that…baby I mean…Makes me feel like this is real…like it could have been…”, Freddie had murmured when had had pulled away from Brian.   
“It´s real, Freddie. It is…”, Brian had whispered back and kissed him again.

The sudden squeeze of Freddie´s hand pulled Brian from the memory of the sweet moment spent together.

“Are we really done, Brian?”, Freddie asked him, eyes shinning with growing excitement and childlike joy, the realisation of the achievement slowly sinking in. 

Brian chuckled softly, lifting Freddie´s hand up to his lips and pressing a quick kiss to his knuckles. 

“Yeah, we did, Fred.”, he replied and felt Freddie rub the bony back of his hand against his slightly stubbly cheek. 

“Oh, how wonderful…”, his friend sighed.

“Now, who here wants some champagne?”, Roger asked with a wide grin, having reappeared in the doorframe, his eyes bearing a warm expression of understanding when they focused on Brian and Freddie. 

Brian had never talked to his bandmates about the things that had happened between Freddie and him and while the guitarist was certain that they knew about it, had known for a long time, they did not seem to mind it. 

Roger smirked at them, leaning against the door.

“We gotta back to the hotel thought. There´s nothing in that damn fridge except for some milk that´s gone bad, really nasty smell actually.”

They ended up celebrating their success back at the hotel, having dinner at the restaurant downstairs, their table having a lovely view of the lake. Raindrops were shimmering in the lights of the street lamps, giving them a faint halo. Once again, Montreux was showing them another side of its beauty. 

Champagne had been ordered liberally and as far as Brian could tell, Freddie was enjoying himself, managing to eat half of his dinner and sipping on a small glass of champagne, joining in with their laughter and stories. 

When he cracked a dirty joke or told a story of some botched up gig from more than a decade ago, he almost seemed back to his old self. 

“What do you think, dear? Should we ask Phoebe to call Jim tonight? He could take the next flight over to here so you guys can have some time to yourself, have a nice little holiday?”, Brian asked Freddie when the night was drawing to a close. 

Freddie seemed tired by now, blinking owlishly against the candlelight. Brian knew that it would soon be time for them to go home. 

“Oh, that sounds lovely, Fred!”, John piped up, taking a sip of his glass of champagne, tipsiness adding a little flush to his cheeks. 

The singer shot him a slightly confused look, opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then slowly shook his head. 

“No…no I don´t…think I…”, he murmured, “I think I´d rather go back home with you guys, darling.”

So when they got on the plane three days later, Freddie was with them. When the plane took off, he held Brian´s hand, tightly squeezing it, wedged somewhere between their thighs and the seats, hidden from view. 

It was only then that it really sunk in, the fact that the previous night had been the last one he spent holding the singer in his arms, watching him sleep peacefully for a few precious hours, being able to protect him, to soak up every second they had together. 

The realisation made his heart clench, while he held onto Freddie´s hand even tighter, which caused the singer to mumble in his sleep, snuggling up closer to Brian, head leaning against his shoulder. 

Their goodbyes at the airport were a melancholic affair, just like always when they had spent a considerable amount if time together, working on an album, only to now return to their mundane, every-day-lives with their families. 

For a few days, Brian seemed to live in a kind of fog that only lifted for a few moments, when his mind seemed to return to his body, a kind of synchronicity that made him realise how happy he should have been to be back. 

The first night back in Anita´s arms, her gentle kisses, the feeling of being held by her, while she listened intently to his stories about their time in Montreux, her hands tenderly running through his curls, until he feel into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

An afternoon at the zoo with his children, little Emily sitting on his shoulders while Jimmy and Louisa were jumping around, pointing out their favourite animals, hands sticky with ice cream, telling him that he was “The best daddy in the whole wide world.”

He was glad to be back home, glad to see his family and friends. But still, when he couldn´t sleep at night, he couldn’t help but wonder how Freddie was, if he had been able to settle back into his London life. And god, he missed him, he really did. 

The papers surely had noticed that they had returned to London, the paparazzi’s back on the hunt for pictures of the singer and the rest of the band. 

For a little longer than a week, Brian didn´t hear anything from Freddie. 

It was a Saturday, shortly after seven in the morning, when the phone next to his bedside table rang and woke him up from his restless sleep.

“Who´s that?”, Anita asked groggily, stirring in his arms, hiding her face deeper in his shoulder. 

“It´s okay, love, I´ll get it. Sleep some more.”, he whispered, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before untangling himself from her and sitting up to pick up the phone. 

“Hello?”, he asked, voice slightly hushed.

“Brian…it´s Jim…”, the voice on the other end said and Brian´s eyes widened in surprise. 

Freddie´s boyfriend sounded tired, his voice slightly hoarse with exhaustion and Brian felt worry creeping up on him, his heartbeat speeding up. 

“I´m so sorry, I know it´s early, but…”, the Irishman said, but Brian seemed to already know what he was going to ask. 

“Is he okay, Jim?”, Brian sounded nervous to his own ears, panicked even. 

“He´s…he…is alright, he is.”, Jim murmured into the receiver and Brian could hear him taking a deep breath. “I know it´s a proper idiotic thing to ask, but…”

“Does he want to see me?”, Brian asked quickly, before the Irishman even had the chance to finish his sentence. 

He could hear Jim chuckling, giving a small sigh. “Yeah, he does actually…You know, he misses you terribly, Brian. Kept asking about you for days…He´s had a bit of a rough night and…”, Brian could hear him sighing again, “Well, you know how he gets when he´s got his mind set on something. He kept asking me to call you.”

Brian felt a smile tugging at his lips, all sleepiness vanishing from his mind. 

“I feel so sorry for bothering you this early in the morning, maybe you´ve already got things planned for today and that´s fine…”

“I´m gonna be at your place in an hour, okay?”, Brian said quickly, already getting up from the bed. 

“Brian, you don´t have to…”, Jim tried to protest, but Brian would have none of it. 

“Tell him I´m coming, okay? Tell him I´ll be there soon.”, he asked, a sense of determination in his voice. 

“Thank you, Brian. I mean it, thank you so much.”

Freddie was huddled up in bed when Brian entered his bedroom after giving the door a quick knock. Delilah was been eyeing Brian suspiciously while he had walked up the stairs and Goliath had blinked at him tiredly from his spot on the bottom of the staircase, almost as if he found it quite rude of the guitarist to pay his owners such an early visit. 

“Brian… you came…”, Freddie´s voice sounded incredibly tired. His eyes seemed sunken and slightly swollen, a purplish tint to the delicate skin. Still, the smile that appeared on his features lit up his whole face. 

He had lost more weight, his fingers clinging to the edge of the duvet, looking like twigs. He struggled to sit up and Brian was by his side quickly to help him with it. 

“Of course I did, sweetheart.”, he replied as he got closer, crouching down next to the bed, a hand placed on the singer´s bony back to help him position his pillow. He noticed that the singer had been crying, his cheeks blotchy and red. 

“I-I didn´t feel well and…I…I…”, Freddie tried to explain, hiccupping adorably, even though Brian could tell that his friend suddenly seemed slightly embarrassed of his demand for Brian to come over this early in the morning. 

“He´s just had his medication.”, Jim had just entered the bedroom as well, taking a seat next to Freddie on the space of the bed that was unoccupied by him.

Brian knew that it should have felt off, being inside their bedroom with them, being inside the home those two men had built together, while he was the one who had made a decision that could kill their love forever. 

“I hate that stuff, it makes me vomit all the time…I hate it…”, Freddie murmured, sounding like a child with an upset stomach, “I hate it so much…”

“I know, honey. But you´ve been so brave and you took all of it, just like you do every day.”, Jim took a hold of Freddie´s hand, giving it a squeeze, his gaze full of warmth and tenderness. 

“Still hate it…”, Freddie murmured, but he leaned into the touch when Jim gently stroked his cheek with his thumb, giving a small sigh. 

It was touching for Brian to see how much the two men cared for each other, how selflessly, patiently and lovingly Jim made sure all of Freddie´s needs were met, how he seemed to be there for his husband each and every minute of the day to make sure that he was alright.

A small pang of sadness hit Brian, when he realised that he had never experienced a love like this in his life, ever. And maybe it hurt even more to know that only Jim could love Freddie like this and that he himself could not. 

Montreux might have shown him a sliver of what it could have been like but it could never substitute for the real thing.

As if the Persian had read his mind, Freddie´s tired gaze fixed back on Brian, a childlike joy in his eyes, as he began to speak.

“Let´s go back to Montreux, Brimi. I miss it so much…”, he murmured, eyes shimmering with excitement and the naïve perception, that his failing health would still grant him such a trip. 

Brian´s gaze met the comforting brown of Jim´s eyes. Without saying a word, they both agreed to indulge in the singer´s little fantasy of going back to the small town by the Lake Geneva, allowing him to dream, to escape the confined world of his bedroom. 

“Sweetheart…why don´t you tell Brian and me what you´d like that stay at Montreux to be like…So I can take some mental notes, you know?”, Jim suggested. 

Freddie smiled enthusiastically and Jim nodded over to a chair that was standing next to the bed, motioning for Brian to sit down. Brian couldn´t help but wonder if this was the chair Jim sat on during nights on end, when Freddie was having a fever or when he couldn´t sleep, worrying and praying for the meds to kick in. 

“I´d like all of us to go there…Roger…Deaky…the children…all of them...Anita and you, Brimi.”, Freddie smiled at him with shimmering eyes until his gaze shifted back over to his husband, “And you and me, darling…”

Jim chuckled softly, when Freddie took a hold of his hand again.

“That sounds lovely, honey. Go on, what would you be doing all day?”, the Irishman encourage the singer.

“You know…if only I could feel the sun shining down onto my face and hear the sound of the waves of the lake against the shore…I´d be the happiest man on earth…”, Freddie closed his eyes while saying those words, the faint ghost of a smile lingering on his lips. In his mind, he seemed to be in Montreux, smelling the fresh breeze carried towards the land from the lake. 

“I´d like to go on walks along the shore in the mornings…when the air´s still fresh and crisp…when it still smells of the snow from the Alpes. And then we´d see the swans…and I´d snap a few more polaroids of them.”, he went on to explain and Jim chuckled softly. 

“That´s a splendid idea, honey. We really should expand our collection.”, he said softly and Freddie cracked an eye open and smirked at his partner. 

“Yes, we should, my love.”, he replied with a hint of teasing in his tone of voice.

He opened his eyes fully and his gaze returned to Brian. 

“And afterwards, we´d go to the studio…and we´d work on a new album…And I´d sing…just like in the old days…My voice would never break, I´d never get tired, we´d just keep on working until we´ve finished with it…you and Deaky and Rog and me…”

“We´d record the whole album in one day?”, the guitarist asked with a soft smile, “I feel like my hands would get a bit tired from playing so much if we´d do that…and think of poor Roger and his arms.”, he added and Freddie gave a defeated little sigh. 

“Alright…we might have to take it day by day then.”

“Don´t wear the guys out too much, sweetheart.”, Jim added, his thumb running over the back of Freddie´s hand in a soothing motion. 

“I won´t, darling!”, Freddie said, sounding like a child promising his parent to be well-behaved on a family holiday. 

Still, Freddie seemed to have more ideas on how to spend their time together.

“In the evenings, we´d all have dinner together at the Duck House, a nice big family dinner, like we used to have here at Garden Lodge…”, a smile of dazed happiness appeared on the singer´s tired features, “And I´d be able to eat…and to drink…maybe even get a bit tipsy…and each guest would get a present, something special for each one of you…because you´re my family…”

“That sounds very lovely, Fred…”, Brian said softly, quietly but the easy smile vanished from his features, when Freddie looked at him with eyes full of desperate intensity. 

“Do you promise, Brimi? Do you promise that we´ll go back to Montreux?”, he asked, his voice breaking, blinking hastily against the tears that were threatening to spill from his brown eyes. 

Brian took a deep breath. To say yes would be a lie. To say no would only be cruel. And so, he decided to go with the gentle, loving lie. He wondered how many of those Jim told his husband each day, simply to not crush his spirits, simply to give Freddie something to believe in, something to hope for. 

“I-I promise, Freddie…”, he murmured and Freddie gave him an exhausted but very pleased smile. 

He suddenly seemed to have become very tired, struggling to keep his eyes open, his head lolling to the side against the pillow, his grip on Jim´s hand loosening. 

“Sleep a bit more, honey, it´s okay.”, Jim whispered and pressed a soft little kiss against Freddie´s knuckles, which made the Persian smile faintly, until he sunk into sleep, breathing softly, absolutely exhausted. 

They sat for a few more minutes, Jim holding Freddie´s hand, while Brian watching the gentle rise and fall of his friend´s chest. The quietness made Brian himself realise how very tired he still was. 

He thought about their mornings at the Duck House, waking up together, holding Freddie in his arms, trading sleepy kisses in the morning sun, the bedroom their blissful little bubble that only Phoebe could disturb, when he knocked on the door to remind Freddie to take his meds. 

Now, it all seemed like a dream. A dream that should be forgotten, never to be remembered. It had been a different life, their little smidge of heaven in Montreux. 

But this was London, Garden Lodge and if Brian had ever doubted it, he now knew that there was no man on this earth, who loved Freddie Mercury as dearly as Jim Hutton. 

“Would you like a coffee?”, Jim asked him in a hushed voice, pulling Brian from his thoughts. 

“Thank you, coffee would be lovely right now.”, the guitarist replied.

“Come on, let´s go down to the kitchen.”, carefully, Jim let go of the singer´s hand and then they tiptoed out of the room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

Brian felt slightly awkward when he sat down on one of the benches by the table, watching Jim bustle about in the kitchen. 

With a small meow, Goliath entered the room, begging for a treat and when Jim denied it, claiming that he was getting a little chubby, the cat found a spot next to Brian on the bench, purring and demanding to be petted, which Brian of course did. 

The guitarist had been here before hundreds of times, but never without Freddie. Being alone with Jim was odd, not because he didn´t like the other man, but because he felt like an intruder in their perfect little home, in the life the two men had built together. 

Jim set a steaming mug of coffee down in front of him on the kitchen table and then took a seat opposite from him, warming his hands on his mug, giving Brian a tired smile. 

“There you go.”

“Thank you, Jim.”, Brian said quickly. 

“No Brian, I have to thank you…for coming over.”, the Irishman said and then took his first sip of coffee. Brian wondered if the other man had slept at all last night. 

“No worries, Jim. Really, it´s no bother at all.”, he murmured but then the Irishman found his gaze and Brian could tell that he had chosen his next words very carefully. 

“And for taking such good care of him when you guys were away in Montreux…”

Within a second, Brian felt a heavy sense of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. 

To not tell the truth right now would make him a coward, a liar and a disgrace of a friend. But it was hard to find the right words. 

“Jim…I-I…God, I don´t even know what to say…I…”, he stammered, stumbling over each syllable. 

“I mean it, Brian. You´re his rock…I mean, all of you guys are, Roger and John as well, but…It´s different with you…You know that, right?”, the Irishman continued to explain, the words of praise flowing from his tongue with such ease. 

Still, Brian felt like he deserved none of them. 

“Yes…yes I do…”, he murmured, giving himself one final push to finally say what had been lingering at the back of his mind since they had entered the kitchen, “Jim, I´m so sorry, there´s something I need to apologize for, I really didn´t mean for it to happen, I know it´s not even my place to…but…I…”

Jim´s kind, brown eyes found his and made Brian shut his mouth immediately. 

“Brian, he´s told me.”

The guitarist felt heat rise towards his cheeks, his chest feeling tight, making it hard to breathe. 

“He has?”, he heard himself asking, sounding like an idiot to his own ears. 

“Yes, he did.”, Jim said with a small nod, his gaze lingering on the coffee inside of his mug for a second. Brian couldn´t really tell the look on his face. 

Was he angry with Brian? Would he shout at him, call him a cheater, a horrible human being, throw him out of the house and forbid him from seeing Freddie ever again. 

“Oh God, I´m so sorry…”, Brian stammered, but with a small gesture of his hand, the Irishman stopped him in his tracks. 

His gaze found Brian´s and the guitarist was surprised to find no hatred or anger inside of those kind brown orbs. 

“No Brian, you´re not really getting me here. I´m glad that it finally happened.”, he stated plainly and Brian felt his eyebrows rising up his forehead in disbelieve. 

“I beg your pardon?”, he asked, heartbeat hammering away in his chest, hands getting clammy on the mug of coffee. 

“I might not be the chattiest person, but I do notice things, you know. I´ve seen the two of you on stage. Of course there´s the undeniable chemistry, the way you play together…I´ve seen the looks he gives you when you´re playing your solos…I´ve seen the way he leans into you…but there´s more to it. There´s trust, there´s a feeling of belonging, of sticking up for each other. It´s remarkable really…”, Jim explained. 

Brian swallowed thickly, a heavy sense of defeat settling over him. For so many years he had tried so hard to pretend, to keep his feelings hidden away. And just like that, Jim had figured them out by simply watching them closely. 

“Is it really that obvious?”, Brian asked quietly and full of shame, struggling to meet the other man´s gaze.

“Well…”, Jim said with a small sigh and as he realised Brian´s defeated desperation, almost seemed to take pity on him, “When Freddie and I started becoming exclusive, when he stopped seeing other people and we became a real couple, I´ve asked him…if there was someone… someone else, you know...Because I could tell that there was something going on… someone he was holding on to, something that he was keeping from me.”, the other man started to explain.

“At first, I thought it was about the whole business with Mary, him feeling guilty for everything that happened with them all those years ago. But that wasn´t it…Instead, he told me about his feelings for you.”

Brian felt a flush creeping up his neck. He almost couldn´t believe what he was hearing. 

“He told me that it had initially been nothing more than a silly little crush and that he had seen you going out with girls and tried to push it aside.”

With a small sigh, Jim took a sip of coffee.

“Were you angry…?”, Brian asked him, his voice quiet, timid almost.

His words made the Irishman chuckle. 

“Well, at first I thought oh dear, not only is he a famous rockstar with a shopping addiction and a cocaine problem, an obsession with cats and a clingy ex-fiancé, but also, which is much worse, he´s utterly and hopelessly in love with his guitarist…”

A small smile crept onto Jim´s features, defeated almost, as if there was no denying the truth.

“But it never made me think for a single second about leaving him…I´d already fallen for him too hard.”, he explained. 

Still, he took a deep, steadying breath before he continued to speak. 

“And then, he told me again…about a month ago. That you´ve confessed your feelings to him and that he´s still got feelings for you too, that it was difficult to stay away from you when you guys were around each other in the studio all day.”

“You knew about it all along?”, Brian asked, blinking at him in disbelieve. 

Jim nodded slowly. 

“Yes of course I did. Freddie and I promised each other to not keep silent about these things and we´ve kept it that way for all six years of our relationship.”, he explained and then took another sip of coffee. 

“What I´m trying to say, Brian…is that it´s okay.”, he added, once again holding Brian´s gaze without any sign of ill-wish or anger. 

But Brian felt horrible, shame washing over him in waves, the other man´s kindness almost making it worse. 

“Jim, you don´t have to say that. Really, you should be furious with me! You…you should hate me for…”, he stammered but Jim only smiled softly, sweetly and shook his head. 

“For allowing the man that I love to have one of his dearest wishes to come true? For giving him something that he will cherish in his heart for the little time that remains for him? For letting him experience a love he has felt for almost half of his life? Brian, I´m not angry. I´m happy for him.”

“Jim…”, Brian gasped in disbelieve, unable to process what the Irishman had just told him. How selfless, how deep, how beautiful was his love for the singer? Brian almost couldn´t fathom it. 

“Brian, don´t feel bad for this. I´m going to be honest with you, yeah? He´s got a year…maybe less…He´s very, very ill.”, Jim explained matter-of-factly, the expression in his eyes showing a sliver of pain, before he was able to push it away again, “Things have been getting to him more, he´s been thinking…about his life. There´s so much guilt inside of him for what he´s done to Mary, how he could never be the man that she wanted him to be…and there´s so much pain, about his past, his childhood, his parents and how he still thinks he´s disappointed them…and then…there are all those words that he´s never said that have been haunting him…and some of those words were I love you…and they were reserved for you…have been for years, Brian.”

Jim cleared his throat and for a second, he was unable to hold Brian´s gaze any longer. The guitarist felt his heart clench in sympathy.

The Irishman blinked a few times, hastily rubbing a hand over his eyes, as if he was trying to get rid of something in them. Then he looked back up at Brian.

“It´s okay…I don´t feel betrayed, I´m not angry, I´m not sad…I just…”, his voice broke and Brian extended his hand to him, placed it onto the other man´s lower arm and gave it a sympathetic squeeze.

When Jim spoke again, his voice was heavy with the tears he was barely holding back and still, his eyes seemed so full of warmth, so full of kindness when they found Brian´s gaze. 

“I just want my baby to be happy…to feel like there´s nothing he has to regret…I want to make sure he feels safe…and content…that´s what I want for him…and if that involves you…then I´m alright with it.”

“Jim…I don´t know what to say, I…thank you…thank you so much for your kindness…I can´t even…”, Brian said, stumbling over the words, deeply touched by what the other man had just told him. 

“He really does love you, Brian.”, Jim said softly, mustering up a sweet, understanding smile. 

“And I love him.”, Brian replied. Speaking the words out loud, admitting to his feelings in front of the man who had put a golden wedding band on Freddie´s finger just a few years ago was liberating and terrifying at the same time. 

“Go up to him…I´ll make him tea and some mango for breakfast. He´ll be happy to see you when he wakes up.”, Jim said with a nod and Brian got up from the table. 

Their gazes touched once again and in this moment, Brian knew that he had never known a better, a wiser man than Jim Hutton. 

“Brian…”, Freddie sighed softly, when he woke up from his morning nap about half an hour later. Brian had taken his spot on the chair next to the bed again, quietly watching the singer sleep, a purring Delilah laying by the foot of the bed. 

“Yes love, it´s me.”, Brian replied, scooting a little closer, reaching over with his hand, which Freddie readily took in his and nestled it against his cheek, snuggling up against it as if it were one of the cats. His skin was warm and rosy with sleep. 

“You´re here…”, he whispered, a smile blooming on his features. He seemed content and much less cranky than before. 

“Yes I am, sweetheart. Did you have a nice little nap?”, Brian asked him, his thumb now stroking over Freddie´s cheek and then his temple, running over his feathery black hair. 

The singer nodded sleepily. 

“That´s lovely…”, Brian said quietly and watched Freddie blink at him, slowly getting more awake with Brian´s gentle touches. 

“Where´s Jim?”, Freddie asked with a hearty yawn, slowly letting go off Brian´s hand and allowing the guitarist to help him sit up a little. 

It was only now that Brian realised that Freddie was wearing his favourite yellow tracksuit. 

“He´s making tea and cutting up some fresh fruit for you. Mango, if I remember correctly.”, Brian explained and and a smile, so lovely and warm bloomed on the singer´s features, that Brian felt his heartbeat speeding up and his heart clench with adoration. 

“How lovely of him…I love mango…”, Freddie murmured and then noticed Delilah on the foot of the bed. 

“I know, love, I know you do.”, Brian said and watched the cat get up from the cosy spot on the blanket, only to walk over to Freddie and settle onto his lap. 

“Hello my little darling, have you been keeping me company just like Brian dear, how nice of you, my sweetheart.”, he cooed, stroking the cat´s fur with a shaking hand. 

Delilah started purring even louder and turned onto her back, showing them her fluffy belly, which made the singer chuckle in delight. 

Watching Freddie with his cats was always lovely, the childlike joy and kindness with which he interacted with them, loved to spoil them and treat them like his very own children, was frankly adorable.

“When´s it coming out? The album, you known?”, Freddie asked him after a while of rubbing Delilah´s chubby belly. 

“February, I think…So we can still play around with the tracks a bit, change them up if you´d like to, just add some finishing touches.”, Brian explained. 

A glint entered Freddie´s eyes, a small smile appearing on his lips. 

“You know, I´ve been thinking…I supposed we should be shooting a music video…at least one.”

Brian gave him a nod and an encouraging smile. 

“Is there a particular song you´d like to do it for?”, he asked and Freddie seemed to known an answer to his question right away. 

“I thought about Those are the days of our lives. I think I´d like to do that.”, he said with a smile, his eyes twinkling with excitement, “Can we do that, Brian? You know, I´m having this waistcoat made, with all the adorable little faces of my furry children on, it´s going to look splendid and I think it would be just the right thing to wear.”

“That sounds amazing, love.”, Brian said and Freddie took hold of his hand again, squeezing it with his. “Now we´ve only got to convince Rog and Deaky of it.”

“Oh, I´m sure they´ll say yes. Roggie´s aching to show off those bongo drums he´s been using for the song in a music video.”, Freddie giggled and Brian couldn´t help but chuckle as well. 

Freddie gave his hand another squeeze and smiled at him, contently sitting in bed while they could hear Jim bustling about the kitchen downstairs.

“I´m so grateful, Brimi.”, Freddie suddenly whispered. “I´m so grateful to have all of you by my side…I´m so grateful that I get to make music with you guys…I´m just…I´m happy, you know. I truly am.”

“And we are just as grateful to have you, Freddie.”, Brian replied, scooting closer to guide Freddie´s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. 

“It´s a good life…Isn´t it, Brimi?”, the singer asked with a soft smile and a warm expression in his eyes. 

“Yes, it is, Freddie. It truly is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments mean the world to me!


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